This is Not Our Fate
by Queen
Summary: Seven years have passed since the fall of the Republic. A group of renegades slowly lays the foundation for a Rebellion yet to come, while one survivor of Order 66 learns her fate is something she can change with her own hands.
1. A Dark and Laughing Rain

Author's Note: Hi everyone! Before we get started, I thought I should comment that this is **_part three _**of a trilogy. It is preceded by **_Said the Joker to the Thief_** and **_What Any of it is Worth_**. The events in this story may not make much sense if you have not read those. This story picks up roughly one year after the end of _What Any of it is Worth_.

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_This is Not Our Fate_

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_No reason to get excited," the thief, he kindly spoke  
"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke  
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate  
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late"_

_All Along the Watchtower – Bob Dylan_

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Chapter 1. A Dark and Laughing Rain

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It was a glowing world.

From a distance, Nar Shaddaa gleamed in the night like a faceted jewel, a well lit beacon contrasted by the endless black of space. It shone with a radiance all its own, the paler illumination of reflected sunlight swallowed by the workings of a world so virulently alive.

To approach, though, gave lie to the brightness. The thin, grey clouds in the upper atmosphere were made of pollutants as much as vapor, with towering factories belching fumes to the sky. The spindly, rusted metal fingers of ancient refueling ports and loading docks reached up into the air as though trying to claw their way away from the surface, seeking escape from the world they were so resolutely affixed to. The air was thick, metallic in flavor, dry and dirty from centuries of manufacturing and the swelling press of billions of beings, crammed into towering cities without the infrastructure to support them. To walk the skywalks at night was to see that the light emanating from the Smuggler's Moon was from a million casinos, cantinas, degraded spaceports and overcrowded slums.

It was a world of decay, of subversive trade, of cutthroats willing to buy, trade and sell what was not easily found elsewhere.

Cody felt vaguely dirty simply walking around, as though a fine layer of filth had crept through every layer of his clothing to encrust even his skin. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, scraping grayish grit out of the corners with a dirty fingernail, blinking several times as they watered. He grimaced and readjusted his position, hunkering down in the corner of the hallway while reminding himself that kicking the drunk on the staircase, just to stop the buzzsaw snoring, was unlikely to do much good.

The entire tenement was squalid; dusty bottles of drink were collected in various spots in the hallway, which was sticky with dried alcohol, refuse and who knew what else. The stairwell smelled unpleasantly of stale urine, and he kept his nose buried in the sleeve of his coat. His coat didn't smell great either, but it was, at least, the somewhat more familiar scent of his own sweat combined with a bit of dust.

He glared down the hallway, gaze fixed on the apartment halfway down, willing its occupant to come home soon, before he told Caw to forget it. He could find another job to scrape together enough money for a transport elsewhere; he needed the money, but he wasn't a soldier slogging through a miserable set of orders out of duty anymore. He had enough credits for a couple cheap meals, and could probably scrounge up another nominally safe place to stay for another night. Nar Shaddaa was a useful place, but it made him miss Alderaan's pure beauty with a physical ache.

The meeting, at least, had gone well. Over the last several months, he'd surmised the entire Corellian sector was quietly arming itself, with scattered pockets of resistance forming steadily. He smirked a little at the thought. The Corellians had a reputation for recklessness as well as bravery. Perhaps it made sense the first stirrings of a united resistance were slowly rippling outward from their turf. Nar Shaddaa, with its own reputation as a stronghold of smugglers, served as an excellent meeting place with a Corellian gunrunner by the name of Artos Esus. They'd done business and come to a mutually beneficial agreement that kept the origin of the weapons secret, and as well as their eventual destinations. Nondisclosure was a beautiful thing. Cody already sent an encrypted message on to Rex and Ahsoka; they'd rendezvous with him on Pantora in a week for a full update and a debriefing on the situation.

Unfortunately, he was running badly short on credits. A couple of short Sabacc games earlier in the evening proved his luck wasn't extending as far as cards, and if he wanted a ticket off this filthy rock, he needed a job.

Calling himself a bounty hunter would be a great exaggeration. "Hired muscle" tended to be the better term. On Nar Shaddaa, someone seemed to always be in need of _something_, and quite frequently someone was needed to rough someone else up to get it. Conyn Caw, the owner of the casino he'd been playing cards at, was having an apoplectic fit when he'd begun considering his luck and other options. It didn't take any particular skill to overhear the vitriol hissing out of the Duros' mouth as he berated one of his more regular employees, the pair walking through the casino's floor.

Some card shark had taken Caw for too many credits. By the level of outrage and disbelief, Cody suspected whatever game this Briseis Whitelighter was in, it had been deliberately rigged against her. A cheat got cheated, and he wasn't happy about it in the least. Cody offered his expert services, and they'd been accepted, likely because he wasn't asking for much more than enough credits to feed himself and buy a transport ticket.

A few hours later, he was sitting in the woman's hallway, slouched down in a corner with his hood pulled over his forehead, giving every appearance in the world of being another passed out drunk. He'd wait for her, spook her a bit, get what she hadn't spent of Caw's money back, and get himself down to the spaceports before sunrise. Frankly, he found her scamming the obnoxious man somewhat amusing, and had no real interest in roughing up a mere grifter and card shark.

He sighed, then stiffened. At the end of the hallway, there was a faint _ping_ as the turbolift reached the floor and the doors slid open, revealing a narrow, dark figure carrying a shopping bag. Stepping further down the hallway and into its' dingy yellow light, Cody's attention sharpened further. The figure was female, and was angling her way towards the correct door. He breathed in deeply, preparing himself, and noticing the new, more pleasant aroma of freshly grilled food join the staler ones. She was carrying a late dinner.

Briseis was ready to enter her apartment, her hand reaching out to type in her authorization code into the control panel beside her door. Cody tensed, his fingers sliding under his coat for his blaster as he edged forward.

Then she hesitated. Her gloved fingers hovered an inch above the control panel, and he watched her straighten, her head gradually tilt to the side as her shoulders stiffened. Slowly, she turned towards him, her body shifting into a more guarded position.

Cody froze. Her head was wrapped in a black hood, her face indistinguishable, swathed in a black scarf. All he could see was a shadowed set of eyes. Once they met his, they abruptly shifted from wariness to abject terror.

Her food slipped from her fingers and splattered across the floor. Then, between one blink and the next, she was gone.

Cody swore, bursting into action. She was his ticket off-world, at least if he wanted to get off-world anytime soon. She'd ignored the turbolift, and he was covering one of the two other means of escape. He bolted down the corridor, reached the crux of hallways in time to see her at the end of the next one, a swirl of black flinging herself through the exit. It was situations like this when he hated working on his own. The presence of one of the others would have prevented this from happening. There was no one to cover the flank.

She was leaping down the stairs lightly, and as he stuck his head over the rail for another sighting, he barely managed to dodge a sudden shot of blasterfire. The bolt winged past him, almost searing off his ear, and he cursed again. He jumped after her, swinging himself around the railing with enough torque to wrench his arms painfully, stumbling as he hit a landing, bursting forward again in a desperate attempt to keep up.

A door slammed, just below him. He hit the next landing with a stumble and rolled upright, kicking the door open and drawing his blaster as he emerged in a crouch onto a backstreet skywalk. He breathed heavily, ignored the new bruises that were likely already forming. What _species_ was this woman? Her figure was distinctly humanoid, and there were few capable of moving with this kind of speed and agility.

A flicker of movement at the end of the alley set him into motion again, this time with his weapon drawn. She was concentrating on speed rather than stealth, though her dark clothing helped her to blend easily into her grungy surroundings. He chased shadows, bits of darkness flickering against the vague light in the back alley.

Then there was brightness. He burst into an arcade of cantinas, their garish, primary colored neon signs standing in sudden contrast to the darkness behind him. He blinked, looking quickly across the milling people wandering the arcade. There was a ripple just to his left, a disruption in the flow of the crowd, slowly disappearing as more figures drifted through the street.

He broke into a fresh run, trying to resist a smile. It'd been awhile since he'd had this kind of challenge. Most of his work of the past several months involved observing, watching, reporting, subtly trying to tease out leads to other resistance cells.

An honest chase and fight was strangely refreshing.

He slammed into someone's shoulder as the crowd thickened, growing denser as he moved further into it. More people made maneuverability difficult, and his target could more easily blend into the mix, to travel along on a tide of beings. He stopped, turned back and forth, seeking out the black clad figure. Sentients of a dozen different species drifted across his view, and he cast a quick look towards the buildings. If she went into a cantina, running and brandishing a weapon, she'd stand out. The arcade was the main strip; smaller alleys seemed to branch off every so often. He picked the nearest. She was unusually panicked, for simply seeing him. He hadn't even drawn yet. Right now, her goal was escape. Her actions suggested this was a pre-planned route; she was ready for flight. That kind of preparatory thinking suggested she had been chased before, and was ready for an attack at any time.

She'd need to get off this level of the city. If she really was that prepared, she'd have somewhere ready to hide, and it wouldn't be too close to her home. Down seemed safer, a place to go to ground, but up led to spaceports, and spaceports meant escape from the entire planet, if necessary.

Cody pushed further through the crowd, reaching a set of pathways running in three new directions: left, right, and up. He went up, and as he wove his way through the crowd, he was rewarded by sighting his quarry's slender figure.

She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder, and their gazes met a second time; the fear was still there, mounting with the realization he was still on her trail. She broke into a fresh run, roughly shoving a pair of haggling Gran out of her way. Cody took a deep breath and rushed after her, keeping her dark shape within his line of sight. He had gained a little on her, but she was beginning to pull ahead again.

The crowd thinned; they were again in the back alleys, and he continued his pursuit more cautiously. She wasn't shooting when there were people around, but she'd taken a shot at him in the stairwell. He drew his blaster again, approached more cautiously, listening for any noises that may give away her location.

It was quiet. He continued forward, keeping to the shadows and against the walls of the buildings, glad of the occasional streetlamp and lit window above. There was something unsettling about the whole situation. Even if she'd quickly concluded he was there for her, her fear level and pre-planned escape route were unexpected. Typical civilians didn't usually think of things like multiple exits and various means of escape. It was pure luck he still had his left ear right now. She was a good shot. Whoever she was, she was either chased down by angry casino owners entirely too often, or she was more than just a card shark.

Part of him said to forget the whole deal. Caw was just a means of semi-honestly earning money for his transport. He could find a different way of moving on to Pantora. Even the satisfaction of a good chase and fight didn't make getting shot worthwhile. He didn't appreciate getting shot at, but some sort of petty revenge against that was hardly enough reason to pursue the woman. He could just walk away. He paused, deliberating, coming up on a narrowing of the alley where a pair of massive dumpsters squatted, billowing a rotting kind of stench. One streetlamp hung above, casting a circle of stark whiteness in the center of the walkway.

The motion was subtle. There was a shifting of solid black against ash grey shadows, just above the further of the two garbage bins, and he barely saw it out of the corner of his eye. Years of life in battle dictated immediate defensive action. He flung himself behind the second giant bin, just in time to avoid a green bolt of blasterfire. It scorched the corner of the dumpster, melting a clump of rusted durasteel and turning it to slag.

Careful not to burn himself on the molten metal, he crouched low and returned fire, his own blast of blue slamming into corner the dumpster she was hiding behind. She released a volley, and he leaned back further, breathing heavily and trying to catch his breath as the stink of charred metal filled the air. Judging by her turning to fight, she'd realized Cody was on his own, and figured the odds of her winning were better.

Then there was a screeching kind of groan. Instinct cautioned him to move back, and he leapt away from his dumpster as the second one came roaring down the alley, its flat bottom screaming against the duracrete ground as it was propelled forward, small sparks kicked up from its corners. It careened straight into his dumpster with a tumultuous crash, transforming his cover into a giant, stinking wrecking ball out to squash him.

There was no time to consider what was happening or how; just that it was. He didn't remember moving, but there was fire burning through the muscles of his arms and legs as they catapulted him out of the way. He hit the further wall of the alley, slamming into it awkwardly. He stumbled, grasping around for his blaster while trying to right himself. What the _hell_ was going on?

She was rushing him at the same moment he was on his feet. He had no weapon, and there was no time to find it. She was only a stride away, her blaster up and her finger on the trigger. Again, Cody contorted himself to get out of harms' way, overbalanced, and desperately tried to keep his footing. Without a weapon, he was at even more of a disadvantage; he had to turn this into a hand to hand fight to survive. He spun himself forward even as he lurched out the way of another shot, bringing himself within arms' reach. Still unbalanced, all he could do was smack her outstretched arm down and away, and heard the satisfying clatter of a blaster falling to the ground.

He got his feet under him, swept forward, pressing his momentary advantage. She ignored the weapon on the ground, wisely choosing to fight instead of distract herself with scrambling after the blaster. He was heavier and larger than she, and he used his weight against her, planting his feet solidly so he wouldn't be thrown off them again, and using all the strength he could push up from his torso to drive a fist at her head.

Then she was suddenly lower, bending backward in an impressive display of flexibility and balance, his fist connecting with only air as he tried to stop before he overextended his reach. His fist opened, fingers grasping, as he saw her black gloved ones move into place on his wrist and forearm.

There was no time to even curse before he felt her thin fingertips driving sharply into clusters of nerves, and her grip suddenly became hard as iron, turning his arm even as she uprighted herself. He floundered, his hand clasping fabric even as he was forced to fling himself forward to avoid her snapping his arm out of its socket.

His scream of pain was short, the sound cut off as he slammed into the street hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. He gasped, vaguely noting that she'd released his arm as he rolled onto his back.

"If I kill you now, you can't report back."

Cody forced his eyes open, trying to focus on anything other than the burning in his shoulder. The dark figure of Briseis Whitelighter was looming over him, her blaster in her trembling hand. Its barrel was close enough that he could look down it, but far enough away that he could not easily reach out to grab it, if he were able to move properly. He looked farther up, following the line of her arm. Backlit by the streetlamp behind her, her face was a mass of shadows, black hair spilling wildly around her shoulders as she glared down at him. He strained against the dark, picking out wide eyes and a thinly pressed mouth, her olive skin made almost ash in the light.

It was the tattoos that cut through the glaze of pain, and made him realize exactly who he was facing.

Across the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks, there was a pattern of delicate diamond shapes.

_Barriss Offee_.

She stood above him, terrified and triumphant and strangely beautiful in her victory. The streetlamp gave her a sharp, backlit halo of raw light. Amid the pain, Cody found his mouth run dry and a hazy sense of awe.

This was a surviving Jedi Knight who found a clone outside of her home. She could only conclude he was a stormtrooper in plain clothes, scouting her out before a squad came to kill her. She was ready, she was alone, and she was unbroken.

She was hesitating, her breath coming raggedly, her hand still shaking on the blaster. He was unarmed, injured, and had his hands up in some semblance of surrender. She was still a Jedi, if a fugitive one. Killing an unarmed man would grate against her nature, even if he was, perhaps, a stormtrooper.

He'd known Commander Offee as a padawan, years ago. General Kenobi worked with General Unduli when the situation demanded, and they'd been acquainted, if only in terms of planning missions and not shooting at each other when in the middle of a battle. She practiced Soresu, used a blue lightsaber. She was among the listed dead Jedi, when the Empire first began issuing warrants for any who had escaped the initial purge.

And she was friends with Ahsoka Tano.

"Alive," he said, rasping out the words and still feeling winded. His head was aching from being knocked into the ground. "Ahsoka is alive. And well. She's still alive."

He could almost feel her tension suddenly ratchet higher, as he heard her suck in a sharp breath and saw her stiffen, edging back slightly as though struck. "You _lie_," she hissed at him, jabbing the blaster slightly forward to emphasize her point. "Everyone is _dead_. Murderers!"

It hurt, because it was painfully true. He shook his head, wincing. "I'm not Imperial. Deserted. Ahsoka is alive. Safe. You're a Jedi." He met her fierce gaze, held it. "You know I'm telling the truth."

He waited, and watched. Her hand shook violently for a moment, and she visibly restrained herself from shooting him right there. She was shifting, forward and backward, indecisive. His head began to stuff up, as though a fog rolled across his mind, blurring reality. She spoke again, voice tremulous with fear and some thin lining of what he could only assume was hope.

"_Tell me the truth_," her voice came, and he heard it in his head as well as through his ears. It was dizzying. "_Ahsoka is alive_?"

He managed a nod, grimacing in pain, though the response slipped from his lips so very easily. "_Yes_."

"_Where?_" she commanded.

Cody struggled against the cloudiness inside his head. She was inside, her voice echoing unnaturally along the corridors of his mind. As the sound of her words reverberated through his skull, he understood what she was doing. "Get out of my head," he grumbled, dizzily trying to push himself up while a fresh shot of pain lanced through his arm. "I'll tell you without the mind tricks."

He couldn't help but feel a bit of satisfaction at the sudden flash of irritation on her face. The fuzziness in his head swiftly abated, and he continued, "I don't know where she is right now. Supposed to meet her next week for debriefing. We're both," he waved his good hand, unsure of exactly how to describe the relationship. Coworkers? Associates? Rebels? Accomplices? Friends? In-laws? He doubted she'd like the last term.

With a grunt, he managed to prop himself up on his good arm, and tentatively flexed his fingers on the injured one. Nothing seemed to be broken, but it hurt.

Offee was scowling at him, her blaster still trained on him. She was still suspicious, but whatever honesty she'd discovered while mucking around in his brain seemed to have shaken her certainty of his being an assassin. He wanted to glower at her for doing such a thing, but considering the circumstances, he couldn't really blame her. The Force was another weapon in her arsenal, and she thought he was trying to kill her. He'd have done no differently.

He held up a hand, made eye contact, then slowly began to lower it towards his belt, where he kept the long range communicator he used to contact Rex and Ahsoka. Offee bristled, and he quickly said, "I'm contacting her. You took out my blaster. I have a vibroknife at my back but can't reach it at the moment," he said, wincing a little as he painfully moved his bad arm, forcing his fingers to unclasp the lock on his belt pouch, then pulled out the commlink. He fumbled with it, finally turning it on and opening the channel.

Static. Offee's expression darkened with suspicion. "Hyperspace," he said, pressing a small knob on the side of the device. At the top, a tiny red light switched on. "Emergency evac request," he explained, tilting the unit towards her so she could see what he was doing. If he wanted to keep her from shooting him, best to play this straight, open and honest. "They'll be on their way as soon as they can."

Her eyes narrowed. "They?"

Cody dropped onto his back again, lying flat against the ground. "Rex is with her."

She studied him for a moment, and he felt no intrusion in his mind again. He waited, and watched as she examined him, focusing on his face and letting her attention linger on the scar trailing down one side. "You're Cody," she said. He nodded wearily. She seemed wary, but could not keep out a note of hope from her words. "Master Kenobi…?"

"Alive." He chuckled once, dryly. "Not for my lack of trying at the time."

She gave him a strange look, but backed away a half step, though her blaster remained drawn and trained on him. "If this is a trick, or you are lying, I will kill you before any other stormtroopers get to me."

He closed his eyes. "Fair enough," he agreed.

* * *

For the second time that night, Cody sat huddled in a corner, waiting.

She brought him to an abandoned warehouse, less than half a kilometer from an equally abandoned loading dock. It was an ugly area. She'd marched him quickly down dark alleys, her blaster drawn, discreetly pointed at his side. They moved in the shadows where no one could see. Here and there, sounds of life passed by; of fights, of a blaster shot, of a distant scream. The warehouse was deep in this kind of territory, and the sounds of Nar Shaddaa's nightlife could still be heard punctuating the silence.

Offee sat opposite him, placing herself in the way of the stairs they'd taken to reach the rooftop. He guessed she would be able to augment her jumping abilities enough to make the leap to the next building, if she needed a quick exit. Without a rappel line, his only way out was the stairs she was guarding.

The first hour was agonizing. She ordered him to sit. He sat. Then she sat, and she glared, only occasionally interspersing the glowering with looks of sudden nervousness. She kept her blaster pistol drawn, constantly aimed at his head. He still hurt; his whole arm moved, so he was sure nothing was broken, but he'd banged it up, and then she'd banged it up, and he was pretty sure under his coat his arm was mottled with purple bruising.

The second hour wasn't quite so bad. She was still glowering, her lips pressed into a constant frown, but she'd slowly allowed the blaster to lower, so that it was pointed instead at the floor. It meant, at least, she would take a moment to consider blowing his head off before pulling the trigger. She stared balefully at him, and he uneasily resettled himself.

The third hour, he let himself doze off, and woke sometime later to find her also nodding with exhaustion. Cody stretched out his bad arm and began to roll forward as though to stand. Hours of sitting on the cold, hard roof left him stiff and sore. Offee's head snapped abruptly up, her glare returned, and her blaster resumed targeting his head. He held his hands out, palms up, then slowly made a display of innocent stretching. He settled back down, tugged his coat around himself, and hunkered back against the wall. He slept again.

It was sometime just after a grey dawn when he woke, to find her with her eyes closed, her head lolling to one side, and her blaster loose in her fingers. Remaining still, he considered her.

She'd grown. They'd all aged, but with seven or so years between the last time he could remember seeing her and now, the changes seemed abrupt and distinct. Even as a young Jedi Knight, she'd still had a bit of a teenager's awkwardness, an angularity that was now willowy, and even in sleep, she possessed a sense of adult grace. He'd torn off the scarf covering her face in their fight last night, and she'd been unable to pull her hood up properly with only one hand, the other occupied with her blaster. Long black hair spilled in tangles around her cheeks. Her dark lips were slightly parted as she breathed.

She'd survived. Cody did not know where she was when Order 66 was given, or who shot at her, or what she was doing when some of his brothers opened fire. On one cheek, just under the gnarled tendrils of hair, he could make out a pale puckering of flesh, twiggy and branch shaped, running across her skin and down into the high collar of her shirt, vanishing. A scar.

By the appearance of things, she'd survived for seven years entirely on her own. She communicated with no one when they reached the rooftop. Did she have no one to worry about her, no one to wonder where she disappeared to? Alone, and alive. How had she survived? Was it through compassion, as Ahsoka had, with someone nearby willing to wonder and to defy orders? Was it through luck, as General Kenobi had, being away from the men turning against him, able to slip away and regroup where it was safe? Or was there no one? The thought was sad, and if it were true, her skills incredible.

She stirred slightly, her lips pressing together as she muttered something, brow drawing down sharply. He looked away, uncomfortable, shifting slightly where he sat. Admiring a woman who nearly killed him last night was unwise. The polite little padawan he remembered was likely washed away in the years she'd been on the run. He knew nothing about this Barriss Offee, except that she thought of all clones as murderers.

He'd struggled to keep his brothers alive, as many as he could, for as long as he could, when the Republic became the Empire. As the years passed, there were fewer men he could trust, fewer he could understand. He was surrounded by men who should be his friends and allies, his brothers, his family, and could trust none of them. Their situations were different, but he understood isolation.

Offee began to beep. He lifted his head as she snapped awake, her blaster rising instinctively even as she blinked once and grew alert. She shot him a suspicious look, checking on his position, then picked up the commlink she'd forced him to give her last night. The little red light was now flashing green, and it was making a steady alert noise. "What's happening?" she demanded.

"They're in system, and out of hyperspace," he replied, lowly. "The tracking system is kicking on. Once they hit atmo, they'll get coordinates. We should find somewhere for them to land." He eyed the clear area of the loading dock beyond the row of warehouses meaningfully.

She stood and jerked her head in a motion that suggested he should stand too. Climbing to his feet, he walked forward, and she stepped aside, allowing him to go down the stairs first, presumably to keep her pistol focused on his back. He kept his hands slightly up, where she could see them.

They walked steadily, as daybreak faded into morning. The sky, filled with chemicals, slowly streaked into a lively show of scarlet and orange, overcast with streaks of grey-green fumes from a distant factory. Offee kept them just inside of a nearby storage area, beside a pair of rusted out speeder trucks.

They waited again, another hour passing before they spotted a speck in the sky, slowing and heading towards them. Cody smiled slightly as the shape of the _Drake_ drew more and more distinct, firing thrusters and hovering just above the dock. He glanced at Offee, who only gave him a warning look. He remained silent, waiting. Rex and Ahsoka weren't too trigger happy, so hopefully they'd come out to check on the situation before doing anything reckless.

The _Drake_ landed, kicking up large clouds of dust as it touched down. Moments later, the hatch opened and the boarding ramp descended. Cody breathed out a sigh. A pair of legs came into view, then a second pair, both edging cautiously down the ramp and revealing first Rex, then Ahsoka, both with blasters drawn. One of the laser cannons moved to cover them, and Cody smiled slightly. The two new padawans must be inside minding the weapons.

As Ahsoka emerged more fully into the light, her distinctive striped lekku and montrals clearly marking her, he heard Barriss suck in a startled breath behind him, making a strangely choking sound. He turned, slowly, in case she was still holding the pistol at his back. She wasn't. It hung limply in her hand, at her side, while her other hand, now a fist, was pressed hard against her mouth, teeth biting into a knuckle. She was visibly shaking, and her eyes were swelling with tears.

She probably would shoot him if he moved towards her, even if the intent was to comfort.

He looked away. Unable to console her, it was as much privacy as he could offer. Ahsoka was, it seemed, the first other Jedi she'd seen in years.

"Come on," he said quietly, taking a step away and keeping his eyes diverted. "You might want to put away the blaster though, in case someone mistakes what's happening." Rex and Ahsoka would recognize her. Maera or Rithron, inside the ship, alone, inexperienced, and seeing him held at gunpoint, might react badly. He held his hands up, then pressed them downward, slowly, miming the motion of her putting away her weapon.

She looked at him again, and this time, he returned her gaze. Her lips were slightly parted, and they were trembling. She looked out towards Ahsoka, then back to Cody, took in a sharp breath, and holstered the pistol. Once it was away, he stepped slowly backward, encouraging her to follow him, which she did in a near daze, constantly looking back and forth between the two figures now fully outside the ship and him, as though to reassure herself this was happening.

"Cody!" he heard Rex call sharply, and he turned around. Rex appeared somewhat puzzled, looking between Cody and the dark figure trailing uneasily behind him. Ahsoka, however, already had a hand over her mouth. Then she was flying forward, shooting past Rex, then Cody, nearly launching herself into the air in her attempt to reach her friend.

"_Barriss!_"

The Mirialan woman was nearly knocked over by the force of Ahsoka's enthusiasm, frozen stiff and unable to move from shock. After a frantic hug, Ahsoka grabbed Barriss by the shoulders and held her back, looking her up and down critically, then flinging her arms around Barriss's neck again, bubbling something indistinguishable and overjoyed.

Barriss moved awkwardly, her hands coming up and tentatively patting Ahsoka's back once. Ahsoka pulled away again, holding Barriss out at arms' length and scrutinizing her more carefully. The bright smile on her face faded a little as she looked longer at the other woman, whose expression was strangely blank. Barriss said, in a tiny, frail voice, "Ahsoka?"

Cody watched Ahsoka change. A moment ago, she was merely Ahsoka Tano, ecstatic to see her friend, long since thought lost. Slowly, she straightened, her shoulders went back, and the tips of her lekku curled up tightly. The Ahsoka who spoke next was the Jedi, all authority and deliberate, soothing calm. "I hope Cody didn't surprise you too much," she said, turning to include Cody and Rex in their circle. Barriss flinched slightly, and Ahsoka smoothly shifted positions, placing herself between Barriss and the two clones, while slipping an arm around her shoulders.

"Come on. There's a lot to talk about." Ahsoka steered an unresisting Barriss towards the ramp of the _Drake_, casting a look both grateful and worried at the two men as they passed. Rex edged closer to Cody, providing a feeling of solidarity and support; the flinch was enough to show that Barriss was quite terrified of the two of them.

Rex asked him, in a quiet aside, "Are you alright?"

Cody stared after the two women. They paused before entering the ship, Ahsoka looking concernedly at Barriss, who turned slightly back to meet Cody's gaze. She paused, deliberating, then nodded once, slowly and uncertainly, but with a distinct air of gratitude.

She turned quickly away, and Ahsoka guided her further into the ship.

"Yeah," Cody replied. "I'm fine."

* * *

Shorter Cody this chapter: Pain. Ow. Pain. Ow. Oh look, Barriss Offee..._whoa_. XD

While the first two stories focused on Ahsoka, Rex, Echo and Fives, with Cody coming in for the second, _This is Not Our Fate_ will be focusing primarily on Barriss, though the others will still definitely be around (particularly Cody and Ahsoka). It is, technically, AU. Canon-wise, Barriss was a victim of Order 66. I predominantly use the _Clone Wars_ series and the movies as my canon base, and Barriss' death was not shown. I've borrowed elements from the comics, but I'm using them more as a broad set of guidelines rather than a strict canon, especially since the _Clone Wars_ series seems to be AU from the comics anyway.

More about Barriss' survival next chapter. As usual for this series of fics, beware my leaps and jumps in time!

Welcome to a new story!

~Queen


	2. Fear is the Mind Killer

_This is Not Our Fate_

_Alone she sleeps in the shirt of man_

_With my three wishes clutched in her hand_

_The first that she be spared the pain_

_That comes from a dark and laughing rain_

_When she finds love may it always stay true_

_This I beg for the second wish I made too_

_But wish no more_

_My life you can take_

_To have her please just one day wake_

_Gaeta's Lament – Battlestar Galactica – Bear McCreary_

_

* * *

_

Chapter 2. Fear is the Mind Killer

* * *

She _danced_.

Around her, humming, an arc of blue brightness flew, each pause marking the deflection of a bolt of red energy. She moved, her muscles filled with the memory of a million practices, of steps she'd learned since a child first able to pick up a training saber. Each step came naturally, fluidly, her thoughts whirling along with her blade. There were worries of how to combat so many when so badly outnumbered, of how best to keep her enemy at bay. There were concerns about Lieutenant Galle, and whether he would be able to reach her in time to send her the backup she needed, and if he could not spare men because casualties were too high.

She had to survive. So she _danced_. Her lightsaber was a shining disc of destruction, and the more enemies she destroyed, the more, she hoped, of her men would live. Felucia was not a kind world, to anyone. Too many already perished, through battle, through disease, through the sheer violence of Felucia's native flora and fauna. The planet was old, the plants deeply rooted and deeply steeped in the Force. Felucia itself seemed to strike against those who would dare bring war to it, its earth becoming the permanent home to far too many dead. The world was alive, and it was devouring any it deemed its enemies.

Barriss wanted away from Felucia. She wanted the war to be over, and to find time to simply rest. Right now, though, she simply wanted for those in her care to survive. So she fought, slicing through another pair of droids and leaping aside as a heavier blast shot through the clearing, veering close. She swung her lightsaber, hacking off the umbrella of a giant violet mushroom, sending it spinning down into the line of Super Battle Droids clanking towards her. It struck them with a loud, wet smack, sending several caroming off into a cluster of giant pitcher plants. She kept to the higher ground, using the edge of a gulch as a defensive position. They had no Vulture droids with them, and the slow SBD's were made even slower by the fetid, uneven terrain. A stream of B1's continued forward more easily, but they too had to move down into the dip of the little ravine, now heavily cluttered with dismembered droid parts.

Eventually, she feared, she would be pushed back. More and more droids were moving steadily out of the massive fungi forest, and she was simply outnumbered. The forest was steamy, with an earlier rain evaporating up due to a rising heat, giving an almost nightmarish quality to her solitary battle, with shots of red light streaming towards her through the rising miasma.

The ground trembled. Sparing a glance towards the forest again, she could see no new tanks moving out of the brush, nor any of stirring amid the plants. When the ground shook a second time, she could tell it was coming from behind her. She'd either been flanked, or backup was arriving.

A few seconds later, it proved to be backup: an AT-TE walker with an accompaniment of clone troopers swarming around it, their dirty white armor distinctive and welcoming. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Barriss edged back several steps, striking away another blast as she tried to angle herself into a better position. With help, this battle just got easier, though it certainly would not be easy.

She palmed her commlink, activating it and bringing it closer to her mouth, to be better heard over the din of gunfire. "Lieutenant, open fire when you're ready." She paused, waiting for acknowledgement, but heard none. There was only silence over the communication channel. "Lieutenant Galle?"

Barriss spun, blocked again, sweeping low into the weeds, while twisting herself around to see what the problem was. Men were assuming defensive positions, taking cover behind towering mushrooms and dropping to flatten themselves against the ground. The AT-TE, though, was misaimed, the trajectory obviously set too low to provide fire beyond the ravine.

The cold began in the small of her back, along her spine, then spread over her shoulders and down her arms and into her belly. Odd. _Wrong_.

There was a moment, just before the cannon fired, when she could hear the whine of the weapon warming, gathering itself to send a blast. The world seemed to draw in upon itself, to shrink down to a line drawn between the weapon and its' target.

She swept her lightsaber around. The cannon fired.

Then there were flames.

* * *

Nothing moved.

Barriss cracked open her eyes. The world spun dizzily. She closed them, breathed in, tried again. Still, her body did not move. The fuzzy drone of battle whirred overhead. She could see blue and red streaks of light flying in the air above her. The battle was still ongoing. She breathed, mentally running down her body to check for damage.

That was when she screamed. It did not come out loud, like a shriek, but a ragged, dry whisper. Everything was wrong. The slow fade in of pain was beginning, the feeling of little burning needles pricking her from her feet to her face. The shock stirred her, and as she struggled, trying to call for help, the severed limb of a droid rolled down onto her.

She'd fought. Galle had come; she thought she was saved. Now she was lying in a ditch with dead droids. The half gasped scream came again with a more frantic struggle to move. Those were her men. These were the droids she'd destroyed. The clones were her men, her allies.

They shot her. They shot her with a _cannon_. It hurt. It hurt everywhere.

The mound of droids around her seethed, bucked, lifted as she freed herself, the pricking sensation roaring up into a scalding burn. She flailed, droid bits sliding under her weight as she tried to fling herself forward. She was drowning in scraps of metal. Barriss kicked her legs, scrabbling with her hands, trying to find more solid purchase. She felt two streaks of fresh pain course down her face, and realized she was crying, the tears cutting into raw flesh. It hurt, everything hurt, and she was drowning in dead droids, and her men had turned against her and she _hurt_. "Master Luminara?" she managed, rasping. "Master Secura?"

She fell again. Floundered for a minute. Lay still. Her head lay turned on one side. The battle was still raging. It was close, but the tide had begun to spin further north, following the ravine. Mutiny, it was mutiny, but why? Master Secura. Master Secura was on Felucia too. Someone had to tell her. She and Bly could put it right.

She thrashed, wriggling herself up and freeing herself from the mound of droids. Her legs refused to gather themselves under her, and so she crawled. She kept her head low, eyes on the ground, watching one burnt hand follow the other, her olive skin mottled a charred purple.

Crawling into a thicket of towering pitcher plants, Barriss collapsed. The ground here was cool, moist with recent rain. The pitchers glowed iridescently, veins of gold running through their lavender leaves. She closed her eyes, feeling her head pound and her vision swim. She could ill afford a concussion. She forced her eyes back open, tried again to focus.

As it had always been, the Force was a soothing pool of calm. She immersed herself in it, let it fill her. The fire raging across her skin began to cool, and the more she brought her mind to attention, the more soothing it began to feel.

It gave her a bit of strength; she used it to reach out.

It was then that she felt the _absence_. It was the same feeling of the Force in the blackness between stars, of sheer emptiness, of lack of life. "No," she said aloud, croaking. "No." She tried again, stubbornly reaching out and closing her eyes, seeking out the one bond she could always feel, matter how far away.

It flowed strongly, as it always had. Once a small stream, it was fed by tributaries of _respect _and_ admiration_, even _friendship_, widening into a shining river, always moving forward, rushing back and forth between herself and the Master who taught her so well. She followed that river, let its current carry her back to its source. But where there was once a great lake of _strength_ and _trust, _the river's end now seemed to only fade away, streaming off into the _absence_.

Her hoarse scream sounded again, heard only by the plants surrounding her. She dug her fingers into the moss, tore it up, then dug in again. "Please, Master. Please. _Luminara?_"

For a moment, the _absence_ abated. The plants shivered around her, rustling as they slowly knitted themselves thicker, denser. Deep welled pitcher plants and enormous fungi spread their many colored leaves, growing almost shimmering in the dawning sun. The thicket became impenetrable, and impenetrable, it became a haven.

As she wept, she could, however faintly, hear a whisper say, "_Sleep_."

Exhausted, she did.

* * *

The world shone like stained glass.

Barriss immersed herself in the light. Her consciousness flickered and danced down pathways of tendon and muscle, blood and bone. She traced the surfaces of bruises and fractures, cuts and burns, passing slowly from sleep into a deep trance of healing, plunging her mind down into the Force and drawing upon it.

Felucia teemed with life; so deeply steeped in the Force, she drew upon its abundance, fed that raw energy into her body, and pressed forward with the process of mending.

So very slowly, bones knit, tendons and muscles untwisted and regenerated, blood began to strengthen and to pump more strongly. Her lungs pushed out smoke, and she coughed out black bile from her stomach. Blistered skin calmed, faded from purple into puce, then paled into puckered traceries of olive green.

Burning infections were cooled by focused energies. Tender new muscles moved spasmodically, then tentatively, steadily. Bones shifted and popped beneath her skin, but held their places.

She breathed, and each breath grew less painful.

Her eyes opened, and she began to move.

* * *

Two Felucians found her, a ruined ghost of a woman, wandering a blackened battlefield. They had seen off-worlders before, waging their endless battles across the surface of the planet with utter disregard for the life they destroyed in their path. This one though, burned with the Force, though her body often stumbled and fell.

They fed her, found clothes for her, directed her towards the off-worlder city of Niango.

She thanked them, and when she left, she took with her a blaster from the ruins of a droid.

* * *

The city was silent.

No one walked through the outskirts of Niango, save for Barriss, who kept her head down and walked deep in the evening's shadows. The outskirts narrowed into the city proper, the grid-like pattern of streets fading into a jumble of twisting alleys and blind ends, evidence of natural growth and poor planning in earlier centuries. Deeper in, there were a few who braved the streets; those people she saw walked much as she did, with their heads down, shoulders hunched, and their desire to be left alone obvious.

The lack of people chilled her. It was from the district of Niango that a toxin was being spread into the water supply, and had been her mission to locate the cause and eliminate it. She was unsure of exactly how long she drifted in her trance, but it could not have been more than a few days, then another two to walk from the battlefield into the city. It seemed, that from the last report she received on the day of the battle to today, the city had emptied. It was a Separatist stronghold, or had been; what had changed, and why? Surely everyone couldn't be dead of poison? No, there would be bodies, and the battlefield smell of festering flesh. Niango did not reek of death. Only emptiness and fear.

She needed information. Nothing seemed to make sense. Her stomach growled, loudly, and she clutched at her belly with a hand, grimacing as she leaned heavily against the wall of a nearby building as a wave of dizziness washed over her. The Felucian scavengers she'd met on the battlefield had given her a spare bit of food, some sort of leaves that had been ground into paste and then dried into wedges. It was not enough to last her long, her body still healing and craving the energy calories provided. She felt dry, wrung out, hungry and exhausted. As she had many times in the last several days, she closed her eyes, _breathed out_ pain and _breathed in_ strength. She felt it so keenly now, the slow, grinding energy that was omnipresent on Felucia. She drew it upward from the ground, feeling it seep upward through her feet and her legs, spreading out through her chest after it reached her belly, lending her strength.

There was, however, only so much the Force could provide. She needed food, and water. Resolute, she pushed herself off the wall and staggered forward a few steps before she was able to take more stable strides. Still, she stayed close to buildings, ready to reach out and steady herself if needed.

She found, eventually, a square. It smelled of rotting garbage, and the sound Felucian birds squabbling filled the air, chasing each other around as they fought over choice pieces of refuse. It looked as though some kind of riot had occurred here, with shattered storefronts and goods strewn across the space. She swept her attention across the plaza, and decided it was not only a riot, but looters. She edged her way carefully in, pulling her blaster up into a ready position as she crept forward.

Most of the businesses appeared to be offices, with a couple of cafés between them. She made for the nearest, and shooed birds out of her way as she moved carefully inside. Tables and chairs were all overturned, and someone had upended the caf machine and smashed the display cases with now-stale pastries. The register was on the floor, cracked open and with a couple of credit chips lying idly beside it, forgotten in the rush.

She cased the café, slipping into the back room and looking for people. Once she was convinced the place was truly empty, she lowered her weapon and took a fresh look around. The back room was mostly untouched, whatever looters that had ransacked it caring little for office supplies and storage. There was a desk, where a manager could conduct business, and on the back of the chair was a rain slicker. She grabbed it and slung it around her shoulders, thrusting her arms through the sleeves and pulling the hood up around her head. She shivered once as she pulled it tightly around her. It was several sizes too big, obviously meant for a much larger, probably male frame, but it was wonderfully warm and anonymous. She did not know where the Felucians had found her clothes, but judging by their fit and design, they once belonged to one of the Gossam scouts that the Separatists recruited to spy out Republic troop movements. They were a poor fit for a Mirialan, and things clung to her in places they shouldn't, while they hung awkwardly in others. The raincoat felt, somehow, safer, its' hood and dark color vaguely reminiscent of her own preferred clothing. It was a tiny comfort, and though she despised the thought of stealing it, she desperately needed to conceal herself. It was only a coat, and not a very fancy one, either. Compared to the rest of the damage in the café, she told herself, the theft of a coat was a very small thing.

She moved into the kitchen area of the café, a narrow little passage off the front where a barista would make drinks. Various condiment containers were knocked around, but the kitchen, like the back room, was left mostly intact. She opened cabinets, and found bottled drinks in one, and in a roll top on the counter, bags of bread. Taking one of each, she retreated to the back room and quickly began to stuff herself, ripping chunks of bread out of the loaf to cram them into her mouth, washing each bite down with a syrupy sweet, fizzy drink.

Her stomach growled, then ached. She forced herself to slow, to breathe deeply and let the food settle. Her stomach had spent too much time empty, and now stuffing herself could easily result in her becoming sick. She needed the food to stay inside her.

She tried again, ate slowly. Halfway through the loaf, her stomach was aching from its fullness. She wrapped up the bread and stuffed the remainder into one of the raincoat's pockets. She took another drink from the cabinet and put it in the other pocket before venturing back into the main area of the café.

There were small holoscreens in each corner of the dining space. Two lay smashed on the ground, electrical bits shattered on the floor. One was hanging from its' mount, cracked down the middle and dark from an earlier electrical surge. The last was still on its mount, off. Several minutes of searching through cabinets later, she found a remote.

The holoscreen switched on. She kept the volume low, casting nervous glances towards the door and shattered storefront as she crouched down beside the counter. She could not stay much longer. There was a backdoor, presumably leading to a back alley and a loading dock. She could exit that way, if necessary. Pressing her lips together firmly, she turned her attention to the screen.

A Gossam appeared, his face neatly composed and hands folded as he spoke, the cadence of his voice calming, almost bored, as though he had repeated this same bit of information many times already. "…_citizens are required to remain indoors, for their own safety. Curfew remains set at dusk. Do not leave your homes. Imperial Corps are still putting down rioting in isolated areas of the city. Toxins are being cleared from the city's water distribution systems, though it is recommended that citizens do not drink city water until purification is complete_."

Her brows puckered in confusion. Imperial Corps? Though if someone had managed to shut down the biomolecule plant that was distributing the toxin, she would hardly complain. Still, it made no sense. She rubbed her eyes with her fingertips, resettling herself on the floor and leaning against the base of the counter for support. She was so tired. Now that she was full, she was growing sleepy. She'd need to find somewhere safe for the night, and soon.

"_The galaxy-wide manhunt is continuing_," the anchor continued blandly, though Barriss's head snapped up. "_We will now be returning to the latest updates_."

The screen split, and one half was filled with the image of Aayla Secura. Barriss sucked in a breath and jerked backward, as the words under the shot of her face registered. Name: Aayla Secura. Gender: Female. Species: Twi'lek. Status: _Terminated_.

She grew still.

It was risky, heading to Niango. It was a Separatist city, but it was where Master Secura and the 327th were headed. She hoped to rejoin them. Find some explanation for the great, aching emptiness yawning in the Force, to be able to tell herself the _absence_ was merely the result of severe trauma, of a concussion, of a murkily remembered betrayal by men who should have been her allies.

The image on the screen changed. Name: Barriss Offee. Gender: Female. Species: Mirialan. Status: _Terminated_.

She was dead.

A man was speaking, from the left side of the screen, poised in the Senate chamber. Robed in dark red, his face was warped and his flesh melted, his thin, spidery hands rising in supplication to the crowd as he declared:

"_Our loyal __clone troopers__ contained the __insurrection__ within the __Jedi Temple__ and __quelled uprisings__ on a thousand worlds. The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated!"_

The _absence_ was real_. _Everyone was dead.

She keened. Doubling over, she pressed her forehead against the sticky floor, wrapped her arms around her head and clutched what remained of her charred hair in her hands. The man in the robes was the Chancellor. _Clone troopers contained the insurrection_. Galle. She barely knew Galle, having been assigned him only a few weeks ago. Bly, though. Bly had served with Master Secura almost the entire war. Surely he hadn't turned against her the way Galle did? That would be like…like Gree, trying to shoot her or Master Unduli. Gree, who she used to talk to between battles about the physiology of rare species. Dear Gree, who got so excited over biology and anatomy and culture. The mere concept was ridiculous. She laughed once, harshly, pushing herself up enough to cover her face with her hands, wincing as her palms came into contact with the tender new flesh of her cheeks.

Terminated. Master Secura was terminated. Master Unduli was gone, swept away into the _absence_. Everyone was dead.

"_In order to ensure our security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire, for a safe and secure society, which I assure you will last for ten thousand years. An Empire that will continue to be ruled by __this august body__ and a sovereign ruler chosen for life. An Empire ruled by the majority, ruled by a __new constitution__!"_

The right side of the screen flickered with names and the status of other Jedi: friends, acquaintances, allies, co-workers, teachers. Terminated, terminated, at large, terminated. The left side of the screen was dominated by the visage of the withered Chancellor declaring himself Emperor. His eyes were yellow, rimmed in red.

Everything was a lie. Sith. The leader of the Republic was a Sith. It was all lies.

"_Become the eyes of the Empire by reporting suspected insurrectionists. Travel to the corners of the galaxy to spread the principles of the New Order to barbarians."_

Everything they'd fought for the last few years was a lie. The Chancellor was a lie. How much of the war had been deception? How many people died for this moment to happen? How much was useless fighting so that Palpatine could crown himself Emperor? For a moment, her vision blackened, and when the wave of dizziness passed, she found the remote lodged in the dead center of the holoscreen, now erupting in sparks as it screeched, sputtered, and died.

Palpatine was a Sith. The clones were his tools, weapons to turn against the Jedi. She would be hunted.

The sound of feet pounding against pavement caught her attention. It was the heavy, fast tread of a trooper at full run. No, two of them, the sound of one man running overlaid with the sound of a second. Then, with the electronic, amplified resonance of a man shouting through a helmet's speakers, came a challenge. "Who's in there?"

They were still looking for rioters. She moved, low to the ground, sweeping towards the back as a second shout sounded behind her. The blue flash of a stunner round whizzed past her head and sizzled into the doorframe between the counter and the kitchen. She was out the back door in seconds, pulling the rain slicker's hood around her face as tightly as she could.

The back door led to a loading dock, which ran along the whole of the building's back alley. She sprinted down it, gathering her strength together and summoning a fresh burst of energy from Felucia's almost endless supply of power. At the end of the loading dock, she propelled herself upward, tucking her body close as she leapt through the air.

She landed on top of a nearby building, her legs wobbling, then collapsing beneath her. She scrambled upward as confused shouts echoed below and behind her. The troopers had reached the back alley, and did not see her there.

She ran, and she did not stop.

* * *

Nar Shaddaa was dead to the Force, in so many ways, and yet also so vibrantly alive with it.

The moon was all but dead, covered from pole to pole in writhing, filthy humanity. There was little beauty in this place, excepting the many colored neon lights that filled the streets at night and set the world to shining.

Barriss had called it home for a little over a year, now. It was the first place she stayed longer than a few months, always running. She was tired of running, tired of covering her face with either cake makeup or scarves, unable to relax, to live in peace.

Half the population of Nar Shaddaa was hiding, or on the run, or wanted somewhere for some illegal activity or another. No one cared about another, so long as she didn't cross them the wrong way.

She gambled, losing often to avoid suspicion, but winning often enough to pay for a tiny flat in an inexcusably filthy tenement, and enough food to eat. The Force easily influenced weak minds, and those weak minds were made even weaker by heavy drink and spice and stims. She took advantage, and she survived.

That was all gone now. Sitting on the cold rooftop, she glared at the clone sitting across from her. Once, a lifetime ago, she knew Cody. They were not friends, but she'd respected the man, much as she had any of the clones, especially the officers who were responsible for keeping others alive. Now he was sitting on the roof across from her, cradling his injured arm and dozing.

Ahsoka was alive. He believed it, anyway. In seven years, she'd heard of no one. Oh, a few had survived, after the initial purge, for awhile. Master Ti was on the holonews for a long time, and she'd spent a month desperately trying to find her, only to discover she'd arrived on Felucia not long after Barriss had finally escaped it. Shortly after that, Master Ti was also listed among the dead.

She grieved. For so long, she grieved. To hear someone was alive, and a friend at that, was almost ludicrous. A farce. Everyone was dead. There was no hope, only survival. If powerful Masters like Luminara, Ti, Kenobi, Windu and Yoda all fell to the Sith Lord Palpatine and his watchdog Vader, then what chance had she?

Everyone was dead, and she was alone.

Cody offering her a spark of hope was a joke. She blinked hard, several times, reassuring herself he was asleep. She would not cry in front of the man. If this was a trick, she would not give him something to laugh about later - the Jedi's weakness before she died, how easily he could tease her with hope.

He was a clone, a tool of the Empire. This had to be a trick. Some kind of trick. Ahsoka could not be alive. Neither could Master Kenobi. She scoured the news for months, seeing their names appear again and again. Her own survival was a fluke, the result of getting her lightsaber between herself and the blast, of being left for dead, and years of training as a healer focused on her own recovery.

She touched her left hip. She'd wandered that battlefield for hours, before the Felucians came. Her lightsaber, if it survived the blast, was now someone's trophy.

If it was a trick, she would kill him. It was very likely she would die seconds later.

She was so very tired.

His head bobbed up and down as he slept, his knees tucked up against his chest, his mouth slightly parted as he breathed. Messy dark hair flopped down into his closed eyes.

She clutched her blaster pistol tighter, and she waited.

* * *

This. Chapter. Was. Such. A. Pain! I don't know why it was so darn difficult to get out. Barriss, obviously, is one of the victims of Order 66 in canon. I've tried to align what I've written with canon as much as possible, only with Barriss just barely surviving instead of dying. She was also on Felucia with Aayla Secura when Aayla was killed, only in a different location. According to the Wookieepedia, Barriss also had a padawan, and there were several other characters involved in her mission – I've pretty well removed them from this tale because I'm not familiar with them.

I had a lot of other ideas as to what could be included in this chapter – initially there was going to be a scene including one of the riots, and more about Felucia and the Force and healing, but it all seemed so superfluous, I trimmed things down to make the chapter a bit more streamlined.

Til next time,

~Queen


	3. May it Always Stay True

**Author's Note**: Just to avoid any confusion: the first two scenes are **FLASHBACKS**!

* * *

_What Any of it is Worth_

* * *

Chapter 3. May It Always Stay True

* * *

Bright headlights cut a swath through the darkness.

The road ahead was dim, with only the occasional streetlamp casting pools of light upon their path. The stars were bright, too, that night, crisp and clear in the cold air of early spring. Waxer had the heater blasting, and Cody closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth upon his face as they drove into the mountains. He couldn't quite bring himself to sleep. Though the sun set early, the day felt long. Of all the planets he'd been to in his life, Alderaan was not one of them. It was a safe world, a Core world virtually untouched by the Clone Wars, and with minimal Imperial presence. They were pacifists, the Alderaani, or at least most of them were. He'd made a comment to that effect earlier in the day, and Rex, Ahsoka, and Waxer had simply looked at him, smiling, before Rex commented, "_They wage peace, here, the way most wage war_."

The statement puzzled him, but as Waxer drove them through Aldera and out into the countryside, he began to suspect it was the reason behind Alderaanian prosperity. Peace, commerce, the arts, a highly educated society, a just ruler leading them – these things seemed to breed wealth, stability and prosperity. And with the galaxy as it was, peace needed to be waged as much as war. Bail Organa was, in his own way, a general to contend with. This was the adopted home Rex and his other brothers had chosen, by virtue of Organa being their patron.

Twelve children, or so he'd been told. Twelve Force-sensitive children, still alive, and hiding somewhere in the Alderaanian mountains half a day's drive from Aldera. How Rex and Ahsoka managed it, he still didn't quite understand. The orphanage would, they told him, now be his home, just as it was theirs. He could not stay with the Empire any longer. The men he'd spent so much time working with, protecting, holding together – they were no longer falling apart. They were already in pieces, with so few still hanging on from the old days. Order 66, Order 37, he'd told himself over and over, were his duty, for the good of the Republic, for the good of the many. It was _necessary_.

The only thing holding him together after these orders were executed was a desperate need to preserve what was left. Few, out of the millions of clones, had actually been directly involved in Order 66. Only a handful were needed to take down each Jedi, one by one. Most were in the 501st, who stormed the Temple itself. Order 37, though – that affected everyone. No one with half a heart wanted to hurt unarmed civilians. Too many turned mean in its aftermath, in a sad attempt at reassuring themselves their actions were appropriate. If the civilians were worthless, inferior, vilified, it made mass arrests, lockdowns and brutalities somehow valid.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned, though sleep still did not manage to find him.

"We'll be there soon," Waxer told him, hands on the steering wheel. He gave him a glance and a smile, swiftly returning his eyes to the road.

Waxer had been happy to see him. Rex and Ahsoka were happy to see him. Happy to get him out before he got himself killed. There was almost nothing left to save, but he still couldn't help but feel guilt at leaving. Kenobi's survival assuaged some of it, but that survival was pure chance, and there were too many other orders and displays of violence he'd participated in. He'd genuinely tried to kill the general when Order 66 went out. His survival was not enough. From here, he'd have to work in a new direction, helping from without, much as Rex was. Perhaps, with time, he could make amends.

He was tired. Bone tired, weary. This house they were bringing him to was meant to be a sanctuary. He wasn't sure he quite believed it.

The speeder hummed as it sped over the ground, and they pulled into a long gravel driveway lined with leafless trees, all glistening with a sprinkle of hoarfrost. Little icicles dripped along delicate branches. A large house sat on the swell of a hill, the porch light on as well as a couple others on the first floor. The yellow light seemed welcoming, soft. Waxer slowed the speeder, bringing them to a halt just outside the front door.

There was a groan from the back seat as Ahsoka peeled herself off of Rex, who'd been serving as her human pillow for the last few hours. Rex, in turn, was slumped against the door, his face pressed against the window, eyes closed and huddling deeper into his coat as Ahsoka's warmth retreated. Ahsoka poked him a couple times, on the cheek, to wake him. Cody shook his head and unfastened his safety belt, stretching and hearing several stiff joints pop. Rex and Ahsoka, curled up to sleep together. Everything about this new life was a weird variation on the old.

A burst of cold intruded on the speeder's warmth as Waxer opened his door and stepped outside, slamming the door shut behind him. Cody followed suit, bracing himself for an icy wind. It wasn't quite as bad as he'd expected. The air was chilly, but lacked the bitter bite of winter winds. Even at night, there was the tinge of spring in the air. Illuminated by the warm light of the porch, he could see the smallest of new buds on the branches of the trees, half hidden by the early frost. He tugged his coat tighter around him, and wished he had a hat he could pull down over his ears. His breath came out in small puffs of vapor in front of him, dissipating quickly.

The front door opened, and a Gungan woman of indeterminate years stepped out, a small cream colored Twi'lek girl wrapped in her arms. Two other shapes appeared behind her, then a third; one was also Gungan, one he thought human for a moment, then realized was a pre-adolescent Zabrak boy, and another Twi'lek girl, this one dark pink.

"Welcome back," said the Gungan woman, and the sleepy girl in her arms stirred, looked at him for a moment, frowned, and then turned further, searching. She apparently found what she was looking for in Waxer, and promptly extended her arms in a child's obvious gesture of _pick me up_.

"Waxer-_nerra_," she whined, wriggling out of the Gungan's woman's grasp in an effort to get to Waxer, who smiled, rolled his eyes, and plucked the girl out of Gungan's arms.

"_You_ are supposed to be _asleep_," he told her, admonishing, but not without a certain humor. The girl made another whining sound, curled up into Waxer's shoulder, and pressed her face into his neck.

"I'm not sleepy," she protested weakly, with drooping eyes and a yawn.

"Sheesa not be staying put in bed. All day, asking for you," the Gungan said then turned to Cody. "Meesa be Nura. Yousa must be being Cody."

It was almost surreal, the pleasantness of Nura's welcome, the girl's insistence on Waxer's presence, the owlish looks coming from the other three, the younger Gungan peering out from behind Nura, curious, but not without a certain shyness.

A couple more speeder doors slammed shut, and with a crunch of gravel, Rex and Ahsoka joined the group, both still looking half asleep themselves. "Hi, Nura," Rex greeted, a little bleary eyed.

"There'sa being tea and caf inside, and some leftovers from dinner. Fresh sheets on yousa bed, too," she replied, folding her arms and tilting her head, smiling, as though this were routine and she was prepared for the usual requests of food, drink, and sleep.

"Thanks," Ahsoka said, then looked at the three older kids. "Cody, this is Nura's daughter, Roo-Roo, and Maera and Rithron." She gestured at each in turn, and they looked up at him, still wide eyed. Roo-Roo gave a small wave.

"The little one who should have been in bed three hours ago is Neaera," Waxer said with a grin, hefting the child, who was now soundly asleep. He rolled his eyes again, but the paternalistic smile on his face betrayed his enjoyment of being wanted and missed.

A question came out of nowhere. "Were you really a stormtrooper?"

Maera punched Rithron in the arm, as though he'd committed some sort of social gaffe, and she felt the need to immediately scold him for it. She was scowling. Roo-Roo was frowning at both of them, and Nura also seemed somewhat displeased. Cody shot a quick look at Waxer, Rex and Ahsoka, but they seemed mostly curious as to his reaction. Rithron was staring at him, head up, shoulders back, almost in defiance, though there was fear there, too. Cody exchanged a second look with Waxer, who shook his head slightly. Cody looked down at the boy, who'd positioned himself slightly in front of Maera, in a subtly defensive stance.

They were offering him a place to stay, a home, but it wasn't without some measure of trepidation, at least among the children. He didn't know what the boy – Rithron – the girl, Maera, or any of the children had survived in order to reach this place. Clearly, they accepted Waxer, but he would need to ease their worries about himself. Rithron's fear suggested he knew he couldn't fight Cody himself, but his bluster and stance suggested he'd try anyway, were it needed. A good kid.

Cody smiled. "Yeah," he said. "I really was."

They stared at each other a long moment, and the boy's blue eyes grew wide, then intent and searching as though finding – or perhaps _not_ finding – something in Cody. He nodded once. Maera punched him again, and he snapped, "Quit it," at her, rubbing the sore spot she'd given him and shooting her a dirty look. Cody resisted a sudden urge to laugh. Maera's punch seemed to break the tension somehow, and Rithron's irritation turned it into something almost comical. There were small smiles on the faces of the adults, while Roo simply looked confused about the whole scene. Maera and Rithron were now in a glaring contest.

With a chuckle, Ahsoka shivered, visibly, wrapping her arms around herself and taking a half step in towards Rex, as though his mere proximity was somehow warming. "Let's get inside." She gestured at the house, then stepped forward to break apart Rithron and Maera, ushering them inside while Roo trailed, her mother following her. Waxer hefted Neaera again, positioning her more comfortably, and fell into step with Nura.

Rex took a step forward, then turned halfway back to look at Cody, watching the people bustle their way inside. With the door open again, a rush of warm air rolled across the porch, smelling of caf and some sort of spice. Cody looked at the house, all white with gleaming windows, surrounded by sleeping, frost covered trees.

He _was_ a stormtrooper. It was the first time he'd really thought of himself that way, in the past tense.

Rex was waiting, patient, smiling. He said, "You get used to it."

The two men exchanged a look, and Cody nodded once, in understanding. This would, someday, be home.

* * *

Rex was safe.

Usually, Rithron didn't mind being the center of attention. He'd always been liked in school. He was the fastest, the strongest, and the cleverest player in most of the athletic competitions, even if he wasn't always the cleverest in the classroom. It brought him plenty of attention, from his peers, from his parents, and from most adults in general. He didn't get in too much trouble, he tried hard, and he annihilated any opposing team. Winning was fun. He did it as much as he could.

Until the rumors started, that his skills weren't quite natural. The rumors brought the strange men, who came with Imperial soldiers, and that brought change.

Rex was safe. He'd been the one to find him hiding in the woods, trying to hide from the men in the uniforms. Ahsoka was nice, too. She calmed him down, explained what was happening, and promised him no one else would chase him, if they had anything to say about it. He was too exhausted and grief-stricken to question them. As long as they weren't those strange, frightening men, he didn't care much at that point. Rex was a big, broad shouldered man, just like his dad. His dad who was dead now. They'd shot his mom in the house when she'd refused to let them take him. Dad got him as far as the woods, where they went camping in the summer, and told him to go downriver, watch the sky for droids, and to swim to travel more quickly. He was good at swimming, so he swam a lot.

Rithron shuddered and edged closer to Rex. Rex wasn't dad, but he was as close as he was going to get, anymore. There'd been a moment, near sunrise after that first night, when he knew his dad was gone too. Ahsoka said it was because he was a Jedi. She made it sound like a good thing, being able to touch the Force, but it was frightening, too. The ability to feel the death of his parents wasn't something he considered good.

This house was supposed to be his home, now. It was a nice house, a lot bigger his old one. It didn't have any rivers nearby, and the forest was smaller, but there were mountains, and fruit trees that looked good for climbing. There were also other kids, several of them, all supposedly Force-sensitive like he apparently was. All of them were currently eyeing him curiously, perched in various places along the couch, in what appeared to be the main living room. Rex put a firm hand on his shoulder, reassuring, while Ahsoka continued with introductions. There were several different species of children, a grown-up Gungan, and two men named Waxer and Echo who had the same face as Rex. It was strange, but Rex had talked to him about it on the ship, before they arrived. They were clones, who disagreed with the Empire. He was still a little skeptical of the other two, but nobody else seemed particularly concerned.

"And this is Rithron," Ahsoka finished, introducing him. Rithron straightened, his hands forming fists as he fought to keep his expression steady. Everyone was staring at him.

He supposed he should say something, but wasn't sure what. He shied away, struggling not to duck too visibly behind Rex, letting the others see how frightened he was. Rex's hand tightened on his shoulder for a moment, and he suddenly felt a shot of _courage_ course through him. He frowned a little, thoughtfully, up at Rex, then turned his gaze uncertainly to the ground before bracing himself. Feeling strangely stronger, he straightened and edged back out into the space between Rex and Ahsoka, nodded once at the assembled crowd and managed, with a little bit of confidence, a simple, "Hi."

The skeptical faces softened somewhat, and a couple of smiles began to reform on the other kids' faces. The sight of smiles rather than outright stares helped him relax still further, and his tense posture eased. He didn't really want to be here – he missed his parents, his home, and his friends – but maybe it wouldn't be too bad, if the others were nice. He hated mean kids, and he really hated getting in trouble for punching mean kids.

The Gungan woman was standing up from the couch, and he wracked his brain trying to remember her name, there'd been so many in the last few minutes. Numi? Nema? Nuna? He blinked, no, definitely not _nuna_, that was stupid. She was smiling, in her weird, Gungan kind of way, her lips curving strangely along the bill of her face. He'd never seen a Gungan before, they looked aquatic. He glanced at the younger Gungan still sitting on the couch. Maybe she liked swimming? Nemi or Nuri was looking down at him, her head cocked to the side and her hands on her hips, seeming to consider him thoughtfully.

"Yousa like sandwiches?" she asked.

Sandwiches? Rithron blinked. "Um, yes?" he replied.

The smile on her face broadened, and she chuckled a little, the fins on the top of her head seeming to arch when she moved her head back. "Wesa be having lunch in maybe half an hour, meesa thinking. Tomorrow, wesa do the figuring out what yousa be helping with. Today, though, yousa take it easy, okiday?"

It took him a minute to sort through her dialect, and when he did, he groaned. _Chores_. He was going to have chores here, too. There were a couple of snickers from the other kids, and he shot them a dirty look, which elicited only more giggling. He scowled. Nuni or Nura or Noma patted him on the head once and chortled, then turned back to the couch. "Roo, Olwen, yousa best be getting to the kitchen."

There was a resigned moan from the Gungan girl, and Rithron guessed she was Roo. The other, a girl with dark blue eyes and pale blonde hair, sighed wearily and trudged after the two Gungans, looking more than a little put-upon at the concept of kitchen duty. Nera's departure seemed to be some signal for the group to break up, and the other kids, once off the couch, began to gather closer to him, only to be herded away by the two other clones, Waxer and Echo. The other kids settled for waving at him before rounding the corner as they were redirected. Rithron fidgeted. He didn't know anybody, and though they seemed friendly enough, he hadn't had a chance to talk to them yet. Was he going to spend more time with Rex or Ahsoka now? If Roo and Olwen were going to the kitchen, what was he supposed to do? He watched them leaving, uncertain.

"Maera," Rex called, and a Twi'lek girl paused, turned, and slipped past Echo to edge back into the room. Rex's grip on his shoulder tightened again, giving a reassuring squeeze. "Would you mind showing Rithron around?"

The girl nodded up at Rex, then focused on Rithron. She was a rich shade of dark pink, with large brown eyes and a leather headband wrapped around the base of her lekku. He judged her to be about his age, though he was pleased to note he was taller than her. He was one of the tallest in his class in school, most of the other boys were still shorter than the girls. "What do you want to see?" she asked him.

He looked up at Rex, who had his brows up, waiting expectantly. He glanced at Ahsoka, who seemed mostly amused by his uncertainty. He wasn't sure what he wanted to see, because he didn't know what there was. "Um, everything?" he ventured after a moment, feeling a little embarrassed that he couldn't think of anything better to say.

Maera was smiling a little too and she shrugged. "Okay. Come on, we probably shouldn't go outside yet, because we'll have lunch soon, but I can show you inside stuff." She turned, nodded politely towards Rex and Ahsoka, and began to head out of the room, apparently expecting him to follow her. He shot an indecisive look up at the two adults, but they'd both folded their arms and seemed to be waiting for him to follow the girl.

She was just a girl. No reason to be a wuss about it. He grimaced and trotted after her, hurrying to catch up.

She took him around the inside of the house, starting on the second floor, which consisted mostly of different bedrooms. Nura, as Maera called the Gungan woman, shared a room with her daughter, Roo-Roo, and a small 'fresher off it. The main one in the hall was for everyone else. Waxer and Echo were in the same room, with two sets of bunk beds affixed to the wall. The other rooms were similar, with bunks built into the walls, but were decorated with toys and filled with bright colors. Crayon drawings with names were taped to the doors, and it was obvious which rooms were the girls' (lavender painted walls, a stuffed mooka on one of the bunks, a scrawled crayon rainbow on a wall, girl names on the door) and which were the boys' (navy painted walls, two unmade beds, a stuffed gundark on one of the bunks, boy names on the door). He was, according to Maera, going to be getting the empty bottom bunk on the right, which currently had pieces of a puzzle scattered all over it.

There was another refresher near the bedrooms, and then on the first floor, a spare room used for storage, which sometimes also served as Rex and Ahsoka's room when they were on planet. Yet another refresher, the living room, where Rex and Ahsoka were apparently having a very important conversation, because their heads were close together and they were whispering quickly the way his parents did sometimes when they didn't want him to hear.

Maera steered him quickly past the kitchen and dining room, where Nura, Roo and Olwen were bustling with plates, cups and food. She led him to a set of stairs leading down, and he followed her, feeling the temperature drop slightly as they descended into the coolness of the basement.

There was a holoscreen mounted to one wall, currently on but muted, the host of some local children's show excitedly waving his arms and bouncing around, though no sound came out. There was an empty half circle of chairs around the screen, for watching, but it was the rest of the basement that caught his attention. There were toys everywhere. Most of them were in storage bins along the back wall, where a smaller Twi'lek girl was rooting through one filled with stuffed animals. The rest of the toys were set out on tables or abandoned in the middle of the tile floor. It was obviously the indoor play area.

"This is pretty much it for the house," Maera told him, waving a hand at the whole of the basement. "There's more stuff in the shed. Some of it's for playing, but a lot's for training and stuff. I can show you later, if you want."

He hadn't talked much while Maera gave him the grand tour, but she was friendly and smiling at him, and nobody else seemed interested in talking with him much yet, so he nodded. "What training?"

She brightened. "Jedi training!" she told him happily. "We learn how to do lots of different things. I just started learning the first Makashi kata last time Master Ahsoka was here. I'm going to ask if she can check my form later. I've been practicing a lot." She stood squarely, her right hand out at her side and curled around the air as though she were holding something. She shifted, quickly, her weight lowering and her knees bending as she brought her hands up into what would be some kind of strike, if she had a sword.

He could do that. He could totally do that. "Can I learn it?" he asked.

She smiled at him. "Yeah, probably, but you'll have to learn some Shii-Cho moves first. That's the first form. Maybe we can spar when you learn some." She looked thoughtful, then sent a glance over towards the little girl now flinging stuffed animals into the air. "I'm the oldest, so it's hard to practice with some of the others."

Sparring. Like fighting. He'd be good at that. "Like with swords?"

Maera grinned. "Not swords. _Lightsabers_. Master Ahsoka has one." Then she grew serious, adding, "They're not allowed by the Empire." She frowned, and some of the lightheartedness faded from her face.

She was sad. The realization saddened him a little, too. Maera was nice. He shuffled in place a bit, watching her. Her lips were turned down into something between a frown and a pout, and her lekku were doing an interesting little twitching motion at the tips. He wondered what it would feel like, if he reached out and hooked a finger around one, letting it curl around. The thought made him feel weirdly warm, and he blinked rapidly, trying to figure out why he suddenly felt so much blood rushing to his face.

He was glad when the smaller Twi'lek girl suddenly began to wail, giving him a moment to collect himself.

"Neaera, what's wrong?" Maera asked, momentarily forgetting him and hurrying over to the other girl. Rithron trailed behind a few steps, trying to keep himself from blushing anymore. Way too embarrassing.

Neaera gestured broadly at all the stuffed animals she'd thrown all over the floor. "Wubbie isn't here!" she proclaimed, looking on the verge of tears or panic. "I've looked all over!" she continued dramatically. "Do you think someone took him?"

'Wubbie' must be a stuffed animal, Rithron realized, judging by the mess the little one had made. "You just forgot it someplace," he told her, not understanding what the wailing was all about.

Maera shot him a dark look, and he clamped his mouth shut. "Where was the last place you played with Wubbie?" Maera asked, putting her hands on her knees and stooping down a bit closer to Neaera's level.

The response, of course, was another wail of, "I forgot!"

Maera sighed. "Did you ask Olwen to help you find him?"

Neaera sniffled and glowered. "Olwen said I can't keep asking her to help me find…" she trailed off, her nose wrinkling as her stubby lekku made several funny jerking motions. She was concentrating hard, clearly trying to remember something. After a moment, she screwed up her face and said, a little uncertainly as she tasted a new word, "Not supposed to ask her to find 'frivolous things'."

Maera rolled her eyes, and Neaera was too busy pouting to notice. Olwen was the little blonde human girl in the kitchen, he remembered. Maera told her, "If you go up and ask her nicely, I think she'll help you this time."

Neaera looked skeptical. "Really?"

Maera nodded, and Neaera looked thoughtful. "Okay, I'll ask her, but she'd better not get mad again, she turns all red. Thanks, Maera." The younger girl stood up and ran for the stairs, pounding up them as hard as someone that tiny could.

Maera folded her arms, watching her go, saying, by way of explanation, "Olwen's a really good tracker. She's always finding things that get lost. She sees it in the Force somehow." Maera smiled a little and leaned towards him, conspiratorially. "And she hates kitchen duty. If Neaera can get her out of it, she'll actually be glad to help."

Rithron looked at Maera, and felt himself starting to go red again. Neaera would get her toy back, and Olwen would get out of work she hated. Maera was really nice. Rex and Ahsoka, now Maera. It was good to have people around who were nice. Most of the people he used to be friends with looked at him funny, those last few weeks before the soldiers and the weird man came to his house. He was different, somehow, in a bad way. He was just really good at sports and stuff, but apparently being too good was bad. Ahsoka said he was using the Force somehow to make himself better at things. Faster, stronger. He didn't really understand what the Force was, just that using it was outlawed, or being able to use it was outlawed, or something.

Those last few weeks, when everyone was whispering about him, he'd felt like a freak. No one picked him for teams. No one wanted him, even though everyone knew he was the best. They called him a cheater. Mom tried to cheer him up, but it didn't help. His friends all got mean, and then the soldiers came, and then his parents were dead.

He sniffed, realizing with no small embarrassment he was tearing up. He couldn't cry. Crying was for babies, and he definitely couldn't cry in front of Maera.

Then, quietly, she asked, "Mom, Dad, or both?"

He looked up at her, not really lifting his head, just his eyes. She'd stepped closer, leaning in and lifting a hand as though to calm him or perhaps touch him. Her small hand hovered in the air, indecisively, before she set it gently on his shoulder. He flushed at the contact, and with a hard blink of his eyes, a couple of tears spilled out. He bit back something his dad would say, sometimes, when he was really angry, and wiped them with the back of his hand. She probably thought he was a big baby. "Both," he mumbled, glumly.

"I lost my Mom," she told him, and he ventured another look at her. She wasn't meeting his eyes, but was looking somewhere off in the distance beyond his shoulder. "Everyone here doesn't have parents anymore." She gave a dry chuckle, then, one without any mirth. "Well, except for Roo. She's lucky." The look on her face was bitter.

He didn't really think about it too much, but he awkwardly put his hands out. A little above her hips, just below her ribcage, and shuffled forward a step. She stiffened for a moment in surprise, then eased, edging forward a little too and putting her other hand on his other shoulder before sliding her hands down to his shoulder blades. She put her chin where one of her hands had been.

The motion of her hands sliding down his back cut through everything else, just for a moment. Maera was really nice, and she was actually really pretty, and she was hugging him, even if he'd started it. He turned red, and this time he vaguely understood why. Sometimes older girls and boys did this, before smashing their faces together and kissing. He'd seen one of his cousins and his girlfriend doing that once, and it was kind of gross looking, but at the moment he wondered if it wouldn't be quite so bad. "Are you okay?" he asked her.

He felt her nod against his shoulder. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

She pulled away, shyly. He looked at the ground. "Thanks for showing me everything," he added after a moment.

She nodded rapidly. Her lekku were curling up at the tips again, he noticed.

There was a call from upstairs, in Nura's voice. "Lunch isa being ready!"

Maera still looked unsettled, and Rithron stood next to her, awkwardly. Unsure what else to do, he said, "I'll race you to the kitchen?"

She looked at him for a long moment, then slowly smiled. "Okay," she agreed. The word was barely out of her mouth before a sly look overcame her features, and she was off running.

"Hey!" he shouted, tearing off after her.

Maera was hard to catch.

* * *

The further into the mountains they went, the more riotous in color the trees became.

It was the beginning of autumn in the northern hemisphere of Alderaan, and the cooler temperatures and higher altitudes in the mountains were allowing the trees to unveil their brighter foliage early. Barriss had never traveled away from Aldera before, in the few times she'd passed through the planet in the old days; from there, the mountains were mere snow-capped peaks, visible in the far distance on a clear day. Now, those same peaks were rising in the distance, all shades of white and blue and lavender, the snow reflecting the colors of the swirling clouds in the sky. Taller peaks projected themselves into those clouds, piercing them and causing them to hide the highest mountaintops.

She folded and then refolded her hands in her lap, twining her fingers together only to unravel them again. She tried not to do it, but it was a nervous habit she hoped no one was really noticing. The speeder was packed to the brim with dozing people. The two children – _padawans!_ – sat in the last row of seats, each slumped against different windows, a pile of gear wedged between them. The clone, Waxer, was driving in the front, with Cody riding shotgun in front of her. She could see the back of his head over his seat. Barriss sat in the middle row, with Ahsoka between her and Rex. Rex was dozing, and though Ahsoka had valiantly tried to stay awake and make small talk with her for the ride, she too had succumbed to sleep and was half flopped over Rex, her lekku twitching occasionally as she dreamed.

It was all unreal. Ahsoka was alive. Ahsoka was _alive_, and she had _padawans_, and Masters Kenobi and Yoda were alive as well. So very, very few were left, but the mere concept that she was not alone, not the last, had sent her into tears. Once on the ship, Ahsoka had pulled her into a small set of quarters to talk, and the girl, Maera, had run in and out with tea and tissues and a worried look on her face. It was overwhelming. Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, Yoda. Not Master Unduli, though. Not any of those in the Jedi Temple.

She shivered and huddled closer to the door, sending a skeptical look at the back of Cody's head, and at the narrow profile of Waxer she could see from her seat. Traitor clones. Deserters. She shuddered. Ahsoka claimed they'd been working together for years, and she trusted them all, but the thought was difficult to accept. All that training they'd received – it wasn't really for the war against the Separatists. It was for a war against the _Jedi_. Enemies. Hunters, murderers, assassins.

She was in a speeder full of them. She turned to the window and pressed her forehead against it, fighting a wave of nausea. In the window's pale reflection, she could see Ahsoka leaning comfortably against Rex. Ahsoka was _married_ to one of them. They were around the younglings _all the time_. Who knew if they would someday turn? Bly killed Master Secura. Gree…_Gree!_…tried to kill Master Yoda.

She willed back another round of tears. Stabbing a fingernail into her palm momentarily caused enough pain to distract her from breaking down again. She didn't know what else to do. The thought of leaving Ahsoka and the little following she'd gathered made her feel ill. Master Yoda had exiled himself somewhere Ahsoka did not know. Master Kenobi, too, had no desire for visitors, retiring from the world, though Ahsoka promised she knew what planet he was hiding on if there were ever such a dire emergency they needed his help.

The thought of willingly leaving the last of the Jedi, days after finding them, was unthinkable. Not everyone was dead. Almost, but not quite. Not yet. And Ahsoka was training multiple padawans. It was unorthodox, but far better than there being no Jedi at all. She eyed Rex. She would be watchful. It would not happen again.

A lane of trees swung into view, and there was a large house set at the end of it, sitting upon a rise in a hill. As they drew closer, she could make out several small figures running around the front. From the driver's seat, Waxer said, warmly, "We're here."

She gave him a wary look, but the words seemed to be enough to stir the sleepers. Rex groaned a little, shifting enough to dislodge Ahsoka, who made a little _oomphing_ noise as she lost her spot. There was the sound of rustling from the backseat as well, with the two padawans stirring and upsetting some of the gear haphazardly stacked between them. There was a universal round of stretching, completed just as they pulled into the drive.

Their arrival interrupted what looked like a particularly boisterous game of tag. Several shrieks went up, and a young Gungan girl went tearing off into the house, waving her arms and shouting. The rest of the group swarmed the speeder, staying back only far enough to let those inside open their doors. Barriss slipped out of the speeder, with the result of the younglings scrambling back and staring up at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. One of them, a human boy with dark hair, was pointing.

Ahsoka's sliding out of the speeder behind her made her angle herself to the side, to give her room to stand. The curiosity altered into something more familiar, and there were a couple cries of, "Hi, Master Ahsoka!"

Barriss looked at her. "All of them?"

Ahsoka smiled and nodded. "Yes. All of them."

There were only six milling around right now, but to actually see them there, alive and well and so energetic, could only make her smile. They were so very, very _alive_.

Before Ahsoka could begin any introductions, there was a shriek from the front porch, and a small Twi'lek girl came running out, took one long look at the group, her gaze settling on Waxer. Her face lit, and she torpedoed forward, shouting, "Waxer-papa, look what I made!" She was waving a piece of colored flimsi and apparently trying to tackle Waxer to the ground in her enthusiasm to get him to see it.

Barriss stared at the spectacle. _Papa?_

"Neaera, you are getting a little too big for me to keep picking you up like this," Waxer complained good-naturedly, hauling the girl up so she was eye-level with him. Neaera ignored the admonishment and proceeded to show off the flimsi.

From slightly below her, she heard Maera say, amusedly, "Waxer is Nee's _favorite_."

Barriss could only stare, somewhat agape at the sight, only vaguely aware of how concernedly Ahsoka was watching her. The Gungan girl who'd run inside a minute earlier was now returning, with a Gungan woman in tow, a couple more kids spilling out of the house behind the two of them.

"Are you a Jedi, too?" someone asked, the question startling Barriss out of her reverie. A dark-haired young human girl was asking, looking at her curiously. "Do you have a lightsaber?"

_Lightsaber_. Barriss bit her lip, choosing instead to answer the other question. Was she a Jedi? Slowly, almost uncertainly, she managed to say, for the first time in so many years, "Yes, I'm a Jedi."

There were a couple more shrieks of excitement, and the younglings seemed all but ready to pounce. Ahsoka stepped in the way, though, just as Barriss was forced to step back and away from the tide of little bodies. A couple of them were shouting more questions at her, while another was enthusiastically commenting on how he was going to be a Jedi too.

She pressed herself against the door of the speeder, allowing Ahsoka to channel all the excitement in a different direction, to calm them down. After so many years of nothing, of believing there was nothing left, being mobbed by a small herd of Force-sensitive younglings was overpowering.

"They're just glad to see you," Maera said, from beside her, laying a careful hand on her arm. "We don't really get new faces anymore. They're just happy."

Barriss nodded, speechlessly, while the boy padawan, Rithron, stomped into the crowd and began using his larger frame to herd the younglings physically away from the speeder and Barriss, giving her a little more breathing room.

With more space, she edged forward, trailing after Ahsoka and Rithron, who had shepherded the children closer to the house. There were a few more adults outside, now, as well. In addition to Rex, Cody and Waxer, there were two more clones, one carrying a baby and with a red-haired woman beside him. Barriss looked at him, the baby, and the way the woman was standing beside him.

A family.

She sucked in a breath, suddenly jittery. Ahsoka reappeared at her side, taking her arm and leading her slightly forward. The younglings grew quieter, and Ahsoka said, "This is my friend, Barriss Offee." Casting a smile towards Cody, she nodded in acknowledgment and continued, "Cody found her on Nar Shaddaa. And yes," she added, looking at the human girl who'd asked the question initially, "She's a Jedi. I hope you'll all make her feel welcome."

This time, fortunately, no one began jumping around and screaming. A more sedate, almost shy set of smiles appeared on their faces, though they seemed to all be inching forward, their elation only contained for a moment. Into that moment, the Gungan woman stepped forward, smiling. "Meesa Nura," she said, extending a hand, which Barriss clasped politely. Nura looked her over, and nodded once, seeming to come to some sort of conclusion of her own. "It be being very good to be meeting you." She released Barriss' hand, and turned back to the younglings. "Yousa all can be askin' her questions later," she told them, making shooing motions with her hands. "Yousa all be giving her some time to get inside, and be getting comfortable." There were a few groans, but as Nura continued to shoo them away, the group began to break up, drifting in little clusters to different areas. Most chose to stay outside, watching her from different vantage points in the yard and pretending to play.

The other adults on the porch – the two new clones and the woman – made to step forward and greet her, but were headed off by Rex, gesturing them inside. Standing still and clasping and unclasping her hands, Barriss watched all of this, unsure what to make of it. Waxer was carrying the little girl inside, complementing her on the drawing she was so insistent on showing him. Maera and Rithron had broken away from the adults to join a group of older looking children, consisting of a human boy and girl, and the young Gungan girl. They were all talking animatedly.

The adults, though, were all working their way back inside, and doing only slightly better than the children at not looking back and staring. She stopped clasping her hands and folded her arms, wrapping them more firmly around her. It was all too strange. They all seemed so comfortable with each other, so easy. She watched the dark haired heads of the men retreating into the house, and could not share in that ease or comfort. She felt like an outsider.

The younglings were curious about her, and she was, for the first time in years, able to admit to being what she was. They were happy to know she was a Jedi, someone like them. They were happy to see her, much the same way she was happy to see them. She was one more of their number. It revealed that they did, in their own way, understand the galaxy they lived in. Judging by their ages, many of them were born just after the fall of the Republic. Even those born during those last days of the Clone Wars still would have been babies or toddlers in the waning days of the Republic, far too young to remember a galaxy without the Empire, a galaxy where they would be allowed to live freely and openly as themselves. Ahsoka was giving them a taste of what it was to be Jedi, but their culture, their traditions, their beliefs, even their freedom and their very right to live was taken from them. It was unfair. It was unfair, and it was wrong, and the thought angered her.

"You do get used to it," someone said beside her, startling her from her thoughts. Cody, like Rex and Waxer, had remained off to one side during the introductions, but he'd chosen now to approach. She regarded him warily. Cody was exhibiting what seemed to be genuine _concern_ for her, but the thought that he would extend such feelings towards her was somewhat irritating. She did not need the pity or the support of someone she could not trust.

She pressed her lips together firmly, digging her fingers into her arms. He meant well, apparently, and she didn't need Ahsoka or anyone else thinking she could not control herself. If nothing else, Cody had brought her to friends, and what Ahsoka made out to be relative safety. She could be civil. Meeting his gaze, she nodded once in understanding.

He smiled at her, and she looked away.

* * *

The children are all OC's, with the exception of Roo-Roo. That includes Rithron, Maera, Neaera and Olwen. I randomly pillage names from books on my shelf. Most are taken from _The Odyssey_, but I was running out of good Greek names so I yanked Olwen's from _The Mabinogion_ (running out of good Greek names apparently means opting for some Welsh).

Til next time,

~Queen


	4. The Whole Galaxy is Watching

**Warning**: This chapter involves a high level of **violence**, due to stormtroopers doing their jobs. If this makes you uncomfortable, the scene is found in the second part of the chapter.

* * *

_This is Not Our Fate_

_Then they'll raise their hands  
Sayin' we'll meet all your demands  
But we'll shout from the bow your days are numbered  
And like Pharoah's tribe  
They'll be drownded in the tide  
And like Goliath, they'll be conquered  
- from __When the Ship Comes In – Bob Dylan_

* * *

Chapter 4. The Whole Galaxy is Watching

* * *

Her hand flew over the keypad, punching in the numerical password.

The door unbolted itself with a loud thunk, and Behri pushed her way into her apartment. She shut the heavy door, relocked it, and then leaned against it heavily. It was cool against her palms, and she pressed them flat against its surface, trusting in its solidity.

The apartment was as she left it that morning, mostly. Sia had left after her, and so there was a used towel draped over one of the chairs at the kitchenette's table. There were also a few articles of clothing scattered across the floor near Sia's side of the closet. Otherwise, everything was as it always was; Behri's bed was made, Sia's wasn't. The dishes in the drying rack were now dry, though there was an empty bowl with a spoon and a glass sitting beside the sink, waiting to be washed. A few more delicate bits of clothing were strung on a clothesline near the heater. It was spring now, and they would be able to save some money on electricity bills powering the heater, but it would take a bit longer for clothes to dry. They didn't make enough, between them, to afford one of the apartments with a balcony.

The little studio apartment was cramped, but it signaled their independence. Both had been ecstatic when they realized they'd finally saved enough money to move into the city proper, to live on their own. They'd moved in to the apartment feeling very grown up. She still did, most of the time, feel grown up, though living in such tiny quarters with someone else wasn't always as much fun as she imagined it to be. Still, right now, she really wished Sia were home.

Or maybe she didn't. Sia would be great about listening to her rant, would pull out a couple of Corellian ales and happily dish out insults filled with righteous anger at men who didn't live up to a certain set of standards.

She wasn't sure if that was what she really wanted to do. Fives had quite possibly saved her life. Complaining about something as trivial as a confusing man seemed, well, trivial, in the wake of everything else. She did, however, feel like wailing about the general injustice of life, or would soon. Right now, she was still too stunned by the events of the day.

Behri reached up and pulled her hairband out of her hair, freeing it. She tossed the band onto the kitchen table and looked around the apartment. She took two uncertain steps forward, then spun, raking a hand through her hair and shaking it out. Three steps brought her to the conservator. She opened it and stole one of Sia's ales, popping it open and taking a long pull. She shut the conservator with a hip, pulled out a chair at the table, and sunk down into it.

She'd volunteered to help run the petition. The outsourcing of jobs was making a difficult situation worse. Everyone needed durasteel during the war. Durasteel went into everything, from bulkheads on ships of the line to triggers on blasters. For a little while, at the beginning of the Clone War, Ghorman prospered. Everyone was at work, and though it was often overtime work, it meant getting overtime pay. Everyone was happy. She and Sia made a small fortune in tips, from tired workers needing caf in order to keep themselves awake through shifts that ran straight through seven, nine, fourteen days each. But as the war wore on, things began to change. Requests for freight tonnage decreased. At first, everyone assumed this meant the end of the war was in sight. But even after the Clone War ended and the Empire promised them all prosperity and opportunity for expansion, requests continued to drop, far below usual peacetime levels.

Everyone suffered. People began complaining. Unions began to get vocal. Protesting began.

The Ghormanese weren't a particularly violent people. The protests were peaceful, slowly building in size until today's, when the Empire decided a group of unarmed men and women deserved to be literally crushed.

Behri shuddered, slammed a fist onto the table, squeezed her eyes shut, then grabbed the ale and drank several mouthfuls. The initial sweetness of the dark amber liquid was forgotten the longer she drank, the bitterness of the herbs distilled within it becoming overwhelming. It burned her tongue and the back of her throat. She set it back on the table and pressed her hands against her forehead.

Fives seemed so nice, almost shy about talking to her, as though he couldn't quite believe she'd be willing to spend a few minutes with him. It was sweet. He seemed so happy about spending time with her, too. She reddened at the thought. Why was he there? She'd wanted to kiss him. And then there were suddenly two more of him.

A twin, she might have been willing to believe. Three, though? Triplets? No. With the presence of the Empire arriving that very day on Ghorman, it was much more likely he was a clone, that all three of them were clones. She wasn't sure who the Togruta woman was, but it made the most sense for them to be clones. Were they doing some sort of undercover work? Scouting out the protest to report to their commanders? The army was made up of clone soldiers. Was that why he knew to run when he did? Was it all a con? Planned?

She slid her hands down from her forehead to her eyes, pressing her palms into the sockets and seeing only blackness. She removed them when tears started to slip out, and she rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, quickly swallowing another mouthful of the ale.

If he hadn't pulled her out, though, she'd be dead, trampled in the chaos caused by the descending ship. Tarkin. She scowled. He did it on purpose. Landing a ship on unarmed civilians – on anyone! It was inhuman. Cruel beyond all belief. Who behaved in such a way? Was that the Empire? Was that what they stood for? All their grand promises of peace? Peace delivered by death?

She murmured, "The Empire does not like people who disagree with them."

Fives said that, shortly before the other two came. He blushed when she thanked him for saving her. She dug her hands into her hair. It didn't make sense! If he was a clone, and he worked for the Empire, why help her? Why look after her? Why seem so kind? Why bother _pretending_ to be kind?

She glanced over at her neatly made bed and grimaced. Still, though, if he knew about an attack on the protesters, he had to have known he wouldn't be going home with her.

She wanted to believe the best in him. Partially because it was her nature, but partially because he'd acted like talking to her was the most amazing thing that ever happened to him. That was the sort of thing heroines in holodramas experienced, not Behri Mokusei, waitress. It meant something to her, and she wanted it to be something honest.

The Empire did not like people who disagreed with them. He'd said it so matter-of-factly, as though this were a statement he accepted as a simple, undeniable truth. Maybe he was unhappy with the Empire. Maybe this wasn't the first atrocity he'd witnessed. Maybe he was telling her the truth.

She clung to that thought, and took a somewhat calmer sip of ale, letting it roll around on her tongue. She could never really know about Fives. It wasn't like he'd be coming anywhere near her again.

There were other, bigger problems, now. A ship landing on a group of protesters. She looked at the small holoscreen mounted to the wall near their beds. She didn't really want to hear more, not for awhile. Not until she felt calmer, at least a little. The news would be covering the event, trying to explain it, and likely trying to put a spin on it. She didn't want to think about what that spin would be.

The bolt on the door snapped back, and a second later, Sia rushed into the room, saw Behri, gasped loudly and rushed forward, glomming onto her with a relieved wail. "Behri, you're okay!" She pulled back, looked at her, then noticed the ale on the table. "And drinking my ale. You could have waited, I need one too," she sighed, dropped her purse on the table, then slammed the front door shut and locked it, stomping over to the conservator to pull out a drink for herself. She popped the top and chugged it for several seconds. Then she fixed Behri with a look. "You!" she pointed, "Were at the protest. Is what they're saying true?"

Behri lowered her head. "Controlled landing. It was a controlled landing. They did it on purpose."

Sia let loose a short but colorful string of obscenities before sinking into the chair across from Behri. "I got here as soon as I could. Cooky wouldn't let me out of work, said it was too dangerous." She reached up and whipped her hairband out of her hair, releasing the ponytail. Behri usually liked to wear hers, since it kept her hair out of her face, but Sia despised it. Glossy violet hair spilled over her shoulders and she shook it out, combing it with crimson fingers.

"You shouldn't have asked permission, then," Behri told her, wryly. Sia laughed, but it turned bitter after a second.

"What happened?" Sia asked. "From the beginning."

"It started off normal enough. I got signatures. I wasn't too close to the platforms when the ship went down." Thanks to Fives. She probably wouldn't have reached the platforms themselves by the time Tarkin touched down, but the crowd density was even higher there. She could have been trampled even more easily. Behri closed her eyes. "I lost the datapad with the signatures."

"Screw the signatures, are you okay? You didn't get hurt or anything? You look okay, mostly," Sia told her, looking worried and peering around the table as though Behri might be hiding bandages and bacta behind her.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Mostly."

Sia sighed, leaned back in her chair and picked up her ale, taking a slow swig. "There's going to be even more unhappy people after this. Things are going to get ugly, Behri. Somebody's going to get blamed and it's going to get ugly."

Behri drummed her nails against the glass bottle. There was only one more mouthful left in hers. Quietly, she said, thinking of the screams when the ship descended, "Sia, it already has."

* * *

_(__Then the sands will roll  
Out a carpet of gold  
For your weary toes to be a-touchin'  
And the ship's wise men  
Will remind you once again  
That the whole wide world is watchin')_

* * *

She hummed as she moved.

The door between the kitchen and dining area swung back and forth from her passage. Behri held the circular tray up in front of her, with two fresh nerf steaks steaming on two plates.

She'd begun the day with a bad feeling, but after waking up and checking her commlink for messages, she'd found one from Fives. It put her in a better, more hopeful mood; she hadn't heard from him in two weeks, and the break in silence cheered her. He was still alive and safe. She'd hardly believed it when he appeared in the café several months ago – they'd spent a long, awkward, eventually giddy evening sitting in one of the booths and talking. She'd even ventured a kiss at the end, though not a long or deep one. Barely more than a peck, really. It felt too strange, given the circumstances, but her forwardness brought out the most ridiculously oversized smile she'd ever seen on a man.

She wasn't sure how or when she'd see him again, but their messages and occasional chats made her happy. It was a good start to what she feared would be a very bad day.

"Here you go," she announced cheerfully, scooping the plates off the tray and setting each in place before the two men, quickly checking their mugs. "Can I get you another cup of caf? Joh? Url?"

Absently, Joh replied, "Ah, no, thanks Behri," before returning his attention to the one holoscreen they had mounted up on the wall. The volume was low, but the captioning was on, words scrolling rapidly along the bottom of the screen. She held her tray closer to her, pressing it against her chest and watching.

This was why she had a bad feeling; Sia was at the protest. It was the first in several months, this time being organized by various groups of non-humans. Ghorman was an overwhelmingly human planet, but there were few worlds in the galaxy that were really pure anything. Since the Massacre, the situation of non-human species deteriorated steadily. In addition to the bad economy, lay-offs and obscene taxes, non-humans were being harassed, and there were currently debates raging on the news about putting them into specialized districts, much as Coruscant was now set up. This new protest was sparked by the bombing of the home of a Sullustan Warren-clan. Many of the pro-districting people were claiming that if the Sullustan family was in their own area, they'd be safe from this kind of treatment. With the harassment rapidly escalating into violent hate crimes, Sia, understandably, was livid, as were most of the other non-humans on the planet and a great many humans as well.

The image on the holoscreen was a wide shot of the protest from above. There was a seething mass of people there, and judging by the current of motion swirling through the crowd, the protest was barely peaceful. Signs were being waved in the air, and there was a kind of wild jerkiness in the mass of bodies. The anger was obvious. Behri frowned, looked at the two men in front of her, then at the couple other diners. All were watching the screen intently, their food nearly forgotten.

She turned her head and called back, "Kella? Could you raise the volume? Something's happening."

A short, brunette woman popped up from below the counter which held coffee and mugs, nodded, and rummaged until she brought out a remote, switching off the mute button and raising the volume so it could be clearly heard throughout the café.

"_And it just pains me to know these people are taking our jobs, and we allow it! Look at them! Estimates are saying there's ten thousand of them down there_."

The screen switched from a shot of the crowd to a newsroom, three people sitting behind a table. More holoscreens glowed behind them, but the bright studio lights set the trio into a comfortable, professional light. The man giving the earlier voiceover was still talking, his eyes dramatically swelling up with tears as he clenched his fists, holding them over his heart as he wound himself up with patriotic fervor. "They don't even have permits for this gathering, it's completely illegal. This is not the kind of behavior that real, honest Ghormanese citizens participate in. For them to be on the same ground, the same platforms that were the site of one of the greatest tragedies in Ghorman's history is appalling! They should be ashamed of themselves!"

The man on the far left was nodding in sympathetic agreement, but the woman sitting in the middle looked simply aghast, as though she wasn't quite sure she was sitting in the right newsroom. Behri frowned, not really recognizing the pundits. Kella must watch different news channels than she did, and picked a station she was unfamiliar with. She frowned, listening, as the man on the left chimed in. "Not just that," he agreed, jabbing a finger at the weeping man on the right, "This is why they need to be in their own districts. It's safer for everyone. This will be a riot, you just wait."

The woman seemed to finally find words, and she wheeled on the man on the left. "Are you telling me you honestly think it's acceptable to segregate non-humans into designated areas of the city? There are Ghormanese laws ensuring individual freedoms –"

She was cut off by the man on the left, "Those are human rights you're describing and last I checked _those people_," he wagged his finger in her face, "are _not human!_ They are _aliens_, and if they want their own rights, they can go back to their homeworlds to get them! Ghorman is a human planet!"

Behri was distracted from the argument when she heard someone's fist enthusiastically strike the table, accompanied by a sharp, "Damn straight!" from Url. She looked at the two men at her table again, studying them more carefully. Both were regulars, and she'd served them dozens of times down the years. They'd never talked politics, not really. There was, as always, the usual grumbling about work, but everyone complained about that. Joh was casting a concerned glance at Url, who was nodding and had a set look on his face.

Carefully, she asked, "Url, do you support the segregation?"

He gave her a blank look, then frowned, guffawed, and gestured expansively, as though the answer were obvious. She glanced at Joh, who had suddenly become very interested in his cooling nerf steak. Behri nodded once, as though in agreement or understanding, and Url went back to watching the commentators, now nearly in a shouting match, the woman trying desperately to pitch her voice over the two men trying to drown her out. The weepy one was shouting the loudest at the moment, bellowing, "Members of our government have been receiving assassination threats! They are there to stop the violence and protect our leaders!"

"Then send the army to protect sites of government, not aggressively approach unarmed civilians!"

"They're the ones being aggressive!"

Behri shook her head, wincing. That was enough. Url could believe whatever nonsense he wanted, but she didn't want to listen to this. "Kella, could you –" she began, only to stop when the screen changed, once again showing the protest. A few minutes ago, the crowd seemed rife with tension. Now it was roaring, swelling. She could see small objects flying through the air – rocks.

Url grunted a satisfied "Ha!" in response, as the commentators quieted and began narrating again.

She gripped her tray tightly in her hands, glaring down at Url and resisting the urge to break the tray over his head. "And how many times has Sia waited on you?" she hissed at him, waiting only long enough for him to look up at her in open-mouthed surprise. Tossing her tray down onto one of the nearest empty tables, she ripped her apron off, snapping irritably at Kella, "Take my tables. I'm going."

Bewildered, the woman blinked rapidly, looking between Behri, the two men and the screen. "What? Why? Where are you going, you're in the middle of your shift!"

"I'm going to the protest," Behri told her, slamming her hands into the swinging door hard enough to fling it open. She stormed inside, stomped over to the hooks where they kept their jackets and purses, grabbed hers and ignored Cooky, who was standing over the grill with an astonished look on his face. "I'll be back," she snapped, not even meeting his eyes before marching back out into the dining area.

"But Behri, it's a riot!" Kella gasped as Behri moved back into the room. She trailed her, hovering, wringing her hands and generally fluttering with nerves. "Look at the holo, it's turning violent! You could get hurt!"

"And Sia's out in the middle of it all!" she snarled back, slinging her purse over her shoulder so that the long strap crossed her body. She might need her hands free, and she couldn't be clutching a bag. She ignored the stares of the diners, spun on her heel, and moved briskly out the front door, setting the bells to chiming as she passed through.

Five steps outside the café, she broke into a run.

The protest was taking place at the landing docks, in an effort to draw upon the memory of the tragedy of the Ghorman Massacre. What was happening now was tragic too; only in a different way, though it seemed few enough recognized it. Blaming the Empire was useless, and there was nothing the Ghormanese seemed to be able to do about Imperial treatment. Non-humans became an illogical scapegoat, as people searched for someone to blame for increasing misfortunes, the true culprit out of reach.

She moved out of the industrial portion of the city, stretching her legs into a long, steady lope, and feeling absently relieved that she'd chosen comfortable shoes to wear that morning. The industrial quarter of the city stretched on for miles in several directions, but the Red Pond was in one of the more outlying areas, and Behri was able to move from factories to loading zones and landing platforms before too long.

She heard the protest before she saw it. There was a rumbling in the ground, the sound of many feet stomping against it. The dull roar of distant voices grew louder, and she began to make out the sound of bullhorns and speakers blasting loudly into the air. So unlike the beginning of the Ghorman Massacre, which had felt so communal, so positive, so hopeful. Dreams of a better future were shattered that day, and fierce rhetoric and partisan bitterness had replaced them. There were more people around her now, not just workers moving amid the mills. Some were moving away from the sound of the protest, looks of fright on their faces. Others, like her, were running towards it with determined looks set upon their faces.

Behri scrambled in her bag for her commlink and punched open Sia's channel. "Sia? Where are you?"

There was no response, and she called again. After another round of waiting, the comm exclaimed, in Sia's voice, "Behri? I'm near the platforms, you're not here are you?" She strained to listen, lifting the comm closer to her ear. Wherever Sia was, she was amid a lot of noise and shouting. Fortunately, it sounded more like slogans than screams.

"I'm on my way – Sia, part of the crowd is throwing rocks. They're going to have to send in riot squads, you've got to get out of there!"

There was only more shouting on the other end of the line, and then, "Behri, I can't hear you! Something's going on! Stay at work, okay?" The channel cut off.

"Fierfek! Sia? Sia!"

She bit her lip, slowing to a jog and catching her breath. Near the platforms. Near _the_ platform, where Tarkin landed, or just one of the many being occupied by the protest? This one was turning out to be much larger than the one that ended in a ship landing on top of people. Sia could be anywhere in all of that. The platforms. She stopped as she approached the wide plaza where she'd originally met Fives. While before it was the outermost reaches of the protest, filled mostly with older people and families, the plaza was now packed with angry protesters. She edged to the side, pressing herself up against the corner of a building, and tried to look out over the crowd, to try to determine what to do next.

There were, of course, a great many non-humans, but she was pleased to note that a good many were also human, looking just as angry and shouting just as loudly. There were no families this time, no groups of older people. It was young adults, most around her age. There was a loud chant rising up from somewhere she couldn't see, a defiant repetition of, "_We won't go! We won't go!"_ creating a staccato accompaniment to a speaker's fiery speech, standing on top of a parked speeder and blasting away with a microphone and set of speakers. People waved signs, and Behri could see a large blue Twi'lek wielding one proclaiming, "ANGER LEADS TO HATE".

In the distance, though, she could hear something else – a kind of pounding. Not against the ground, but against something else. It was disturbing, even more so because she could not see the source. This section, at least, didn't seem to be rioting. Perhaps what the holonews picked up was an isolated incident? The last thing the protesters needed was to give combative newscasters and politicians fuel for more anti-alien arguments.

Behri braced herself. If the rioting was already over, then she should be able to weave further into the crowd and get to the platforms. She could either try to join Sia, or at least add her voice to the rest of the mix. She would, still, need to be cautious. Wanting to join was one thing. Getting caught in a riot was another. She'd come close to being trampled during the Ghorman Massacre. There was no one here to pull her out, this time. With a deep breath, she plunged forward into the throng, shouldering her way in as she aimed herself for the platforms.

She was parallel to the speeder and the chanters when the first, startled screams broke out, far off to her right. The crowd's attention was caught by the sound, and, in unison, everyone seemed to turn, to hold their breath. And while that collective breath was held, a pounding could be heard, rolling over the multitude like a hundred men set to wild drumming.

Then the screams truly began.

The crowd erupted into shouting and wild running, and Behri found herself caught up in it, tossed confusedly back and forth as people hurried in one way or another, the crowd seeming to divide itself down the middle, veering off with half running for the platforms, and another half breaking for the city. Amid the mass of running bodies, she finally saw the source of the pounding: stormtroopers, but not in any gear she'd seen before. Their armor was shaped differently, the backs of their helmets sloped as though to more easily shake off projectiles. Each was armed with a side handled nightstick, which they were thumping against large, translucent shields as they approached. The sight of a hundred stormtroopers approaching was frightening enough. The sight of those hundred creating such chaotic cacophony was terrifying.

Someone slammed into her back sending her staggering, and Behri struggled to keep herself on her feet, pushing herself forward. Something fist-sized flew by overhead, quickly followed by several more objects: stones and food. The items pelted down on the line of stormtroopers, who kept up their steady advance, backing the protesters away from the plaza. Two holes then opened in the line, and two vee-shaped wings of men darted outward, rushing the crowd and grabbing at the nearest protesters they could get their hands on.

The crowd screamed in rage, and though they'd kept their distance from the stormtroopers' approach, now they surged forward, seeking to reclaim their own. Behri was carried forward on the tide, stumbling amid the press of bodies and feeling the temperature of the pressed mass rise. There was a ferocious crashing sound as dozens of unarmed bodies smacked into the wall of shields presented by the soldiers. More rocks flew by, and Behri tried to cover her head in case any did not make their target. She flung herself backward, away, trying not to stumble when someone stepped on the hem of her long skirt and she heard it tear. Balling up her fists, she tucked her arms in and thrust herself backward, sending another couple of people barreling aside as she tried to clear her own path.

The riot was devolving into an outright melee. As she shoved her way back through the crowd, another snatch squad rushed into the fight, and she watched as the Twi'lek woman with the _Anger Leads to Hate_ sign was knocked to the street, screaming and rolling into a ball as two of the troopers stomped on her, one kicking her lekku. She stopped moving, her hands sliding out of their defensive positions wrapped around her head.

Behri screamed. Then, somehow, she was flinging herself at the nearest trooper, wrapping her arms around his neck from behind and scrambling for some purchase on his helmet, madly trying to pull him away from the figure on the ground. Something hit her sharply mid-back, and she screamed again as pain blossomed below her shoulder blades. A second strike caught her between her neck and her shoulder, and she dropped, writhing and clutching herself as the Twi'lek woman had moments earlier. Behri, curling up on her side, could still see the woman's body a few feet away.

A stormtrooper loomed up above her, his helmet a chiaroscuro mask of indifference. There was no emotion played out there, only the eerie contrast of white helmet and black eyepieces. It was the face of a machine, of an unfeeling creature made for intimidation.

Fives never wore such a helmet, but within that soulless armor was a man who undoubtedly shared his face. Fives was born to be a soldier, with no freedom to choose another life. These soldiers were now trying to subdue those who wished to keep those rights they themselves were denied, ones they'd never really experienced. Her eyes teared up, and it was not only from pain, but from pity. "You should be better than this," she hissed up at him, her body wrenching as she moved. She screamed at him. "_You should be better than this!"_

There was, in that moment, a second of hesitation. The nightstick over his head seemed to waver, his body seemed to flinch. It lasted only that second, though. In the next moment, the club was again descending, and she was again bracing herself for impact. Instead, there was a dull thud and the roar of more voices overhead, and Behri looked up in time to see two men, a bulky human and a Weequay, each armed with stormtrooper clubs, hurling themselves into the men standing over her. "Get out of here!" the Weequay bellowed at her, turning to slam his nightstick into the shield of a stormtrooper and drive him back a step.

Behri complied, scrambling as she got to her feet and broke into a run, her eyes still streaming. She rubbed at them, but that only made it worse. It was as she plunged back into the fight that she realized there was white smoke everywhere, and there were short streams of it flying overhead, arching and falling into the mob. She wheezed, "Lacrima gas," as she staggered forward, clutching at her chest. She wheeled. A fresh burst of loud voices were emerging into the plaza from the direction of the platforms. Whether it was because they were chased or coming to help those protesters in the plaza, she didn't know. Her nose was stinging, and she could feel her sinuses swelling up with mucus. Fresh rounds of lacrima gas went flying overhead, and she began to blink hard to clear her vision, now clouded with tears.

Someone was screaming, "Disperse into the city! Make them gas everyone! Into the city!" A roar of either approval or dismay met the order, and Behri could not quite make out which. There was a new surge in the crowd, and she followed it, arms akimbo as she tried to stagger her way out of the horde of bodies and gas and stormtroopers. She could still hear the sound of nightsticks drumming against shields.

Half blinded now, she realized people were dispersing somewhere. She didn't recognize the street, but as the crowd thinned and the gas dissipated, she staggered down the first side street she could find, leaning up against the wall of a building catching her breath. She closed her eyes, panting in and out as fresher air hit her lungs. A few breaths of air later, she pushed on. There was a disturbing high pitched whine rising behind her, in the plaza, audible even over the din of the riot. Tilting her head back, she saw dark shapes whizzing by from above, then the sound of stunner rounds sizzling through the air. There were fresh cries from behind her. Stormtrooper reinforcements of some kind. She didn't want to stick around long enough to find out.

She pushed herself off the wall and aimed herself deeper into the durasteel mill district; that was an area she knew, and would be able to find her way home. She could only hope Sia was now doing the same.

This was why Fives held her back before, when she wanted to run back towards the Massacre. There'd been images leaked, of the Massacre's aftermath. Of Tarkin's ship set on the platform, of men and women running for their lives as men in white armor stormed up behind them, releasing stunner rounds into the crowd to scare them off and take them down. There were few images, though, all disjointed and confused and somewhat unreal.

Where was the line between recklessness and courage? She could not do nothing, but her inability to truly fight left her helpless. She'd given bullies black eyes before, and felt strong enough to live through a fistfight, but this was no schoolyard brawl, not even a mugging in some dark alley. This was war. It was not declared, but it was war nonetheless.

She wiped at her eyes, still watering, and wandered towards home.

* * *

Behri sat on the edge of her bed.

With one arm, she clutched a pillow to her chest. With one hand, she held an icepack on her shoulder, over a pad of bacta. Her commlink sat beside her on the bed, and the news was on her holoscreen. She barely heard the words.

"_Ghorman is being placed under martial law until the perpetrators of the attack on Platform One are found. The memorial to those sacrificed on the day of the Ghorman Massacre was defaced and damaged during the Ghorman Riot three days ago. This disgrace shall not be forgotten_."

Sia never returned home. Each time the communicator chirped, it was either from her parents, worrying about her and insisting she come home where it was safe, or from Sia's parents, living outside the city and frantically trying to contact their daughter.

Behri had no news for them. Her arm tightened around the pillow.

She was helpless now. She refused to stay that way.

* * *

She rocked back and forth quietly.

Behri's bare feet touched the floor lightly, and she rose up onto her toes to push the chair backward, lifting them from the floor so that she could glide forward again. She repeated the process, steadily, humming lightly to herself and to the infant in her arms.

Sia hated being down. She'd wake up a half dozen times each night, mostly just wanting to be picked up and carried in circles around their room, as though she were afraid, not of the dark, but of being alone and small. A single, blue-white nightlight glowed in one corner, casting the room in shades of electric blue and shadow. Fives lay sprawled across their bed, sleeping on his stomach and with his hands tucked under his pillow.

She'd had a long conversation with him about responsibility and birth control. He'd been embarrassed, and didn't seem to realize he needed to see a med droid every year too. She'd spoken to Suisen about it as well, warning her that Echo might be somewhat ignorant in this particular matter as well, and the other woman had been both deeply amused and dismayed at the clones' lack of practical knowledge. They could afford no more accidents of this kind. She turned her head slightly and pressed a little kiss to the top of Sia's head. She now had a kind of poofy gold fuzz sprouting from her forehead, while the rest of her scalp was bald. Her cheeks were puffed out, and her pink lips twisted into a little pucker as she slept. Her thin hair tickled, and Behri resisted a sneeze.

Her brother had not been happy, finding out both that he was an uncle and a brother-in-law. She'd convinced Ahsoka to allow her to send her family a message about her situation, and Echo had been happy to help her locate her brother, who worked as a pilot on a cargo ship. They'd been able to speak for a few minutes. She'd shown Jorran Sia, then only a few weeks old. Jorran also apparently wanted to personally throttle Fives and send her home to Mom, so she could never be let out of the house again.

Behri cheerfully told him she could do as she pleased, stuck her tongue out at him and reminded him of how he'd run off to haul cargo instead of work in the mill like most of the rest of the family. Jorran rolled his eyes and insisted it wasn't the same thing. He was, however, glad she was alive, and safe, and seemed to be happy.

Of course, she hadn't told him much more than that. She had not specified where she was living, nor would she show him a picture of her husband. Jorran was worried, and she hated to worry him or the rest of her family, but there was no real choice in the matter. For now, it would have to suffice.

She closed her eyes, starting as she felt Sia's weight lifted out of her arms. Fives was awake, and standing close, picking up the baby and tentatively holding her against him. Sleepy, he was smiling. "Get in bed, I'll put the Pea down again."

Sighing, she watched as he stepped over to the crib and gently lay Sia down, tucking her under a blanket. She let her eyes trace over the back of his shirt, over the breadth of his shoulders, down the musculature of his arms, and smiled indulgently. She had a few regrets about leaving Ghorman, and always would, but in the end, she suspected it was the right choice for her. She was a part of something now. Her great plans might be slightly altered due to Sia's birth, but she was now a part of something that was doing real good in the galaxy.

"What?" Fives asked, still leaning over the crib but turned so that he could look at her. She chuckled lightly, waved a hand, and pushed herself out of the rocking chair, sliding quickly into bed so she could watch him walk over, scratching an itch just behind his ear. He slipped into bed, arranged himself close to her, and they both pulled the covers up to their shoulders. Fives wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close so that her back was pressed up against his chest as he buried his face in her neck for a moment, kissing it quickly before letting his hand wander down to her now-flat belly. He ran his fingers in little circles there, they way he did when she was swollen with Sia, and she giggled a bit, snuggling backward and setting her hand on top of his wandering one.

Together, they slept.

* * *

First off...a big thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far! **BleachBoy, reulte, littlelionluvr, Elven-Spear, LostLyra, ThoseWereTheDays, Librarian Girl, laloga, DoubleEO, sachariah, doctor anthony, Spiff Ladle, Ash Veran, KatiaSwift, Clayto, Last Traveler, almostinsane, Rilan, CCAdventures, Captain Kale, Righterzpen, shakespeareaddict, outlaw hunter, Jadedsnowtiger, Codywolf and Kaprikorn**! Phew, I think that's everybody. If I missed you...you too! You all rock!

Behri was the first real OC I made for this series, debuting in chapter eight of _Said the Joker to the Thief_. Initially, I meant for her to be a one-shot character, only having a brief return in the epilogue of _Said the Joker_. I wanted her to be different from Ahsoka, ordinary, and the kind of person I imagined would eventually join the Rebellion someday, in some capacity or other. As I decided to write _What Any of it is Worth_, I decided to bring her back, and then getting to this point, flesh her out even more. Everything about Ghorman is speculation – the entry in the Wookieepedia does not go in to great detail, so most information about the planet, economy and political situation is made up.

And yes, Joh and Url are Joe and Earl. Here is me, lacking creativity with names. :P The only non-OC in this chapter is, of course, Fives.

Coruscant, during the Imperial period, was indeed segregated between humans and non-humans.

'Lacrima gas' is tear gas, 'lacrima' meaning 'tear' in Latin. If there's a _Star Wars_ equivalent to tear gas, I do not know of it. I doubt many laypeople know of Jedi teachings such as "anger leads to hate", but it's always been a favorite _SW_ quote of mine and it seemed fitting, given the situation.

A great deal of inspiration for this chapter – mainly the second part – is lifted from the 1968 Democratic National Convention riot. The phrase "The whole world is watching" comes from this event.

And yes, a little bit of Bob Dylan again, hearkening back to _Said the Joker_.

I hope you've all enjoyed the chapter.

~Queen


	5. My Skin is Not My Own

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Chapter 5. My Skin is Not My Own

* * *

The familiarity of the place was comforting.

This library was far smaller than the great Jedi archives, but there was a warmth to it that was both intimate and reminiscent of that place. She'd spent many hours ensconced in the Jedi archives studying, memorizing or reading throughout her padawan years and the sight of stacks of holobooks and holonet terminals, glowing electric blue, was more than welcome. Barriss breathed in a breath, inhaling the pleasant, if slightly dusty smell of one corner filled with old flimsibooks. Large, teardrop shaped windows cut into the walls let in pale grey light. The room was warm from the many computers and quiet with the lack of people talking, though she could see people whispering to each other across tables. A couple teenagers were dozing at the study carrels, heads pillowed on arms.

There was the smallest of smiles playing about her lips.

The children began to stream past her, Waxer herding them forward, and the smile faltered. Thoosa and Temese were rushing towards the back of the reading room, Olwen following somewhat more sedately, with Waxer walking along behind them. Roo-Roo paused a few feet in front of her, turned and asked, "Are yousa going to stay with us today? The activity room's in the back."

It was the first time she'd joined the younglings on their weekly trip to the library. Over the past couple weeks, she'd been going into town with Nura, grocery shopping or buying other necessities, familiarizing herself with her new home. She could not quite shake the nervous feeling she had, leaving the younglings at home with the clones, and she was glad of Behri's presence. She knew her concerns would not be appreciated, and would only garner more sympathetic looks from Nura and Behri. She found herself fighting off paranoia constantly.

"Yes, I'll be right there, Roo," Barriss told the girl, who beamed at her for a moment before turning and running after the other children. Almost as much as the clones, she was adapting to the constant presence of the children. They were almost overpowering in their enthusiasm for everything. Even when one or two were calm, at least one or two others were running around, playing and shrieking at each other. It was heartening, but also exhausting. Barriss often went to bed as early as she could to simply have some peace, which was not easy, because she was sleeping in a partitioned area in the basement, where the younglings spent so much time playing. All other rooms were occupied by children, families or clones. She sighed, tired.

Waxer was talking with a woman just outside a pair of large doors. Beyond them, she could see several children roaming between low tables, gathering art supplies while another woman watched. Barriss took a few hesitant steps forward, not quite sure if she could interrupt Waxer's conversation, or if she even wanted to. The question was resolved when Waxer nodded politely to the woman, smiled and turned to go into the activity room. The woman, though, turned away from the room and looked up to see Barriss hovering awkwardly. A smile spread across her face and she approached.

The woman was human, willowy in stature and with nut brown eyes and black hair gathered into a tight braid at the back of her head. She wore a large, paint splattered canvas apron over what Barriss guessed to be a tailored pantsuit. She stretched out a hand. "You must be – Briseis," she said, giving a short, significant pause before the name while lifting a brow ever so slightly. "Echo has told me about you. I'm Suisen."

Barriss clasped her hand politely and shook it once. So this, then, was the girlfriend Echo was always running off to meet. Barriss met her gaze, and realized the other woman was looking at her very hard, critically, almost analyzing. There was nothing negative she could perceive about Suisen; there was _curiosity_, and the ever present sense of _concern_ she received from everyone on Alderaan. From Suisen, though, there was also something odd and hard to describe beneath that. It was flinty, sharp, attentive, though not quite _angry_. There was, she realized, some durasteel behind the smile and the laughing eyes. Barriss lifted her brows, curious.

Suisen chuckled and turned slightly. "Will you walk with me a moment?" she asked.

"You're not needed?" she gestured towards the activity room.

Suisen waved a hand dismissively. "They'll be fine for a few minutes without me. They're starting with storytime, as usual, so unless someone decides to get into the glue early, they'll live."

Barriss nodded once in acknowledgement, and a moment later, fell into step with Suisen, who led her up a flight of stairs to the library's second floor. There was a window to the left, and down one of the aisles of glowing stacks of holobooks, there was an emergency exit sign. Before her, though, there was a large circular desk with an attendant behind it, who looked up curiously at their approach. She smiled upon seeing Suisen. "Would you mind going down to help Meli for a few minutes?" Suisen asked the young woman, smiling and gesturing towards Barriss. "I need a few minutes to talk."

"Sure," the girl said brightly, hopping off a stool and heading for the stairs.

Either what Suisen said earlier was a lie, or she was trying to talk in privacy. Following the librarian, Barriss moved past several empty rows of softly glowing stacks and towards the back of the second floor, near a large window with plush couches arranged in a semi-circle before it. It was only mid-morning, and the dreary weather seemed to be keeping all but the most determined indoors. Grey outside, it was drizzling steadily and promising thunderstorms later, if the black clouds to the west were any indication. Droplets clung to the window's surface, sliding down in little rivulets when enough of them gathered. It provided a view over the street, the grey stone steps leading into the building just below.

"I live in town," Suisen began, her voice low and her hands clasped neatly behind her back as she gazed out the window, watching the rain fall. "In an apartment. It's quiet there. Echo doesn't live with me." The faint smile of amusement on her face turned into something slightly sly. She added, in a conspiratorial tone, "Not yet, anyway." Barriss gave her an odd look, unsure of where any of this conversation was going, and not entirely sure she wanted to hear about Suisen's relationship with one of the clones. Suisen's next words, though, were not about Echo.

"If you ever need a quiet place to stay, you are welcome, Barriss."

The slyness in her expression was gone, and she seemed to be radiating only simple _honesty_ and _welcome_. It was peculiar, if warming; she'd barely met the woman. "What makes you think I need a quiet place to stay?"

Suisen merely continued to smile, and her attention flicked over Barriss between one blink and the next. She shrugged, and held out a hand. "You're uncomfortable here," she began thoughtfully. "You've been on the run for several years, living alone from what I've gathered. You're still wearing worn out old shoes," she said, gesturing towards Barriss' feet, "which are familiar to you but also made for running. Your clothes are new but simple and dark, much more what you would find on someone needing to blend into a crowd on Nar Shaddaa than on Alderaan. Your hair hasn't been cut in years if I'm not mistaken," Suisen wrinkled her nose with some distaste, "and likely kept that way for the same reason you selected dark clothes, being more familiar and providing a feeling of safety or perhaps anonymity. You looked worn out when you arrived, even after Roo spoke with you in an attempt at cheering you up. You've been checking for escape routes, likely out of habit judging by how casual you are about it, though that may be your more youthful training. You're armed," she added, flicking her fingers in the direction of Barriss' left shoulder, where she had her blaster concealed. "And though such things may be common on Nar Shaddaa, it's not common on Alderaan, suggesting you're still not comfortable with your new situation and feel as though it may change at any time." She took a breath and lifted a brow. "Have I misread anything?"

Barriss gaped at her, which caused Suisen to laugh lightly in response. Barriss' brow furrowed. Suisen was no Jedi. She'd have been told if she were, and there was no flicker in the Force, as though a Master were trying to peer into her thoughts or feelings. Her commentary was utterly logical, though it was strange to be read in such a way, with physical senses rather than Force related ones. Was she so obvious to everyone? The thought was disturbing, and she shifted slightly way, folding her arms across her chest in a subconscious effort to distance herself.

"How?" Barriss asked, feeling oddly exposed and somewhat embarrassed that her discomfort was so obvious.

Suisen's expression was not unsympathetic. She lifted her hands slightly, palms up and open, as though to show a desire for peace. "I've always had a penchant for a good mystery novel. Actually, I was quite determined to become a consulting detective when I was a girl." She waved a hand dismissively and laughed a little, clearly at herself, and Barriss found herself relaxing at the woman's self-depreciating sense of good humor.

"Why didn't you?" Barriss asked, and at Suisen's querying look, added, "Join security forces, I mean?"

Suisen's smile sobered somewhat, and she looked thoughtfully out the window for a moment, as though choosing the right words. "I decided I liked reading about murders far more than I would ever enjoy being involved with them," she said finally, turning her head towards one of the bays of holobooks, the endcap sign labeling the section _General_ _Fiction:_ _Mysteries_. "I prefer my death and villains safely inside stories." Suisen turned to face Barriss, her expression serious. "Alderaan is not without its share of crime, but there is usually little need for carrying firearms here. I must admit, I am not pleased you brought a weapon into my workplace with so many younglings around. I understand you are still adapting to this place, but in this case, there are others around you that you should consider."

Barriss could feel that underlying _hardness_ rising to the surface, lifting above the _amusement_ and the _concern_ Suisen otherwise was experiencing. She was not angry, but as she said, she was not pleased either, and once pointed out, Barriss flushed slightly. She had not walked anywhere without a weapon for years. There was no thought about arming herself in the morning. It was routine, it kept her feeling safe, gave her a weapon to fight with, were she ever to be cornered by Imperials. Being chased by Cody was still too fresh in her mind, and she shivered, feeling a chill at what could have happened if Cody actually was an Imperial assassin or bounty hunter. So many times, down the years, she'd had to run. She tightened her grip on her arms, curling in on herself, letting her right hand slide into her jacket and touch the grip of the pistol.

Alderaan was not Nar Shaddaa. She was safe here.

Suisen stepped forward, her hands out and open again, this time concernedly. "I did not mean to upset you," she said, and Barriss found herself trying to give a small smile.

"I know." Her hand slipped away from the weapon, and she clenched her fists. "You're right, that it's not necessary here. It's just…" she trailed, her fingers edging back towards the blaster and the secure feeling it provided, "I have not been without it in a very long time." It was not her lightsaber. It was a replacement, nothing more. It would never be her lightsaber, gone for so many years now. A lightsaber's purpose, though, in the hands of a Jedi, was defense. Not only of its' wielder, but of those its' wielder protected. The purpose of a blaster was to kill.

She felt suddenly weary, and struggled not to slump or sink into one of the soft, cushioned chairs beside her. Suisen was right, though, about her needing a quiet place. The younglings were exhausting, the changes between her current situation and her life of the past few years discomforting, and the constant solicitousness from Nura, the clones, and even Ahsoka was cloying. Everyone seemed to want to shelter her, cheer her up, treat her like she was fragile and delicate and _broken_ somehow. Suisen, too, was offering _concern_ and _sympathy_, but she did not seem to think Barriss was about to _break_. She would not be offering straightforward criticism if she did, however gently couched. It was a relief, to be treated normally, even for a moment. "I will remember, for next time. And thank you, for your earlier offer. I will consider it."

Suisen inclined her head gracefully in acknowledgment, though the crease of worry between her dark brows did not leave. She did, however, step back and turn to the window. "Today's children's program lasts a little over an hour," she said quietly, watching the rain fall outside. "It's usually quiet up here, at least until the latter half of the morning. If you'd like something to read," she said, turning to look over at the collection of mysteries, "Konen Doil's _A Study in Vermilion_ is excellent, even if it wanders a bit in the middle." She smiled warmly at the shelves of luminous blue books before turning to Barriss. "I should be going."

Barriss nodded, and Suisen gave a brief bow in return, turning quickly so that her braid swung out behind her. Within moments, she was gone, and Barriss could hear her shoes lightly striking the uppermost steps before fading away as she descended.

She eyed the shelves for a moment, considering looking for the recommendation, but sighed instead and allowed herself to sink into the nearest chair. It was thickly padded, and it nearly enveloped her as she settled down into it. Comfortable, she turned so that her head could rest on the back of the chair, and she pressed her cheek against the fabric, feeling its smooth texture against her skin. She was careful, though, not to allow it to smudge the green makeup she'd applied so carefully that morning, to cover the tattoos patterned across her nose.

She did not mean to sleep, but with the quiet and the lull of the rain drumming on the window, her eyes closed, and she dreamed.

* * *

The face in the looking-glass did not seem to be her own.

By tilting her head to the right, looking only at half her face, she could see who she once was. Her skin was unmarred, the pattern of dark diamonds dappling her nose and cheek were clear of damage. To tilt to the left, though, revealed the right side of her face. The burn did not stretch too high, but it reached up clearly from her neck, mapping itself across her jawline and creeping up to her cheekbone. Neither side quite seemed right; one was the face she wore when she last held a lightsaber. The other marked the beginning of her exile.

Looking at herself full in the face was a study in contrasts, neither one thing or the other. Half seemed Jedi, half seemed fugitive, and neither really felt like her own. Lifting a finger, she rubbed at the side of her nose, massaging away a little more green paint, and bringing the edge of one of her tattoos into sharper focus. Even with the paint gone and her markings revealed, she did not quite feel like herself.

Suisen insisted on shopping. It was not what Barriss expected or was promised, when she asked to visit for a day or two. Barriss found herself dragged to half a dozen different boutiques in the town's downtown and forced to try on a dozen different ensembles in each, until Suisen pronounced her appearance adequate. She'd then proceeded to buy the clothes for Barriss, insisting they were a welcome present, though Barriss strongly suspected the woman was simply exasperated by the excessive amounts of nondescript black Barriss seemed to own. She'd then been hauled to a day spa, where she'd been attacked by a series of droids and estheticians, shoved into a chair, had her new shoes removed, feet massaged and her nails scrubbed, buffed, filed and polished until they gleamed with raspberry colored lacquer.

Then a stylist droid went to war with head, and she'd nearly panicked at the thought it would realize how much makeup she was wearing, and where. The thing seemed far more interested in whacking at her hair and babbling about skin tone, follicle texture, split ends and bone structure. It was the most bizarre experience she'd had in a very long time.

The result only added to the surreal experience of her face. Her hair, ragged and past her shoulders that morning, was clipped short in a wispy, pixie-ish crown that curled around her neck and ears, cupping her cheeks and falling in choppy layers across her forehead. Her clothes were still dark, but the burgundy of a tailored shirt lent her olive skin warmth she had not seen in it in years.

She did not look like herself. Not as she was when she was a Jedi, not as she was when she was a fugitive. Uncomfortable with her appearance, she ran her hands over her face, through her hair, reassuring herself that the rather pretty woman imitating her in the mirror was herself. Her fingers trailed through the short length of it, fiddled with the smooth ends, slid down the back of her neck and across her collarbones.

The figure in the decorative mirror copied her movements. Barriss bit her lip, and her counterpart did as well. She felt exposed, without the long lengths of hair; targeted, with the rich colors she wore. The neck of the shirt was low enough to reveal patterns of scar tissue she usually covered; thick, raised flesh that proved she'd healed without the aid of bacta.

It was frightening. But somewhere, deep inside, beyond the nerves, there was a sigh of pleasure. It felt wrong, enjoying her own appearance. Jedi were not vain. Fugitives could not stand out. And yet, here she was, allowing herself to be towed around town and dressed and fussed over. Her fingertips explored her face, sliding over her brows and along her temples, to twiddle with her newly shortened locks. Beauty was a luxury she never afforded. She was not sure how well prettiness suited her.

With two fingers, she reached out and touched the surface of the mirror, and Barriss-in-the-mirror reached out, returning the gesture. The glass was cool and smooth against her skin.

She sank down onto the couch, amid her pillow and blanket. A flimsibook bearing the title _A Study in Vermillion_ slid a few inches down the folded blanket, seeming to want to climb into her lap and demand to be read further. Barriss picked it up, but did not open it. Instead, she ran olive fingers over the cover, the brilliant scarlet of it creating sharp contrast against her skin. Though the morning was full of bustle, shopping, and horrific hair experimentation, the afternoon was far quieter. After a simple lunch of sandwiches at a café, Suisen drove them back to her little apartment, which was filled with eclectic art made by Suisen's parents, plush decorative pillows and sweet-smelling candles. Every wall had a shelf of books, either holobooks glowing coolly in corners or old flimsibooks gathered in little stacks with miniature sculptures serving as bookends, not quite managing to prop them up. They'd settled into different corners, Barriss on the couch, Suisen in a stuffed recliner, and curled up with different novels.

That was what Barriss came for. The quiet. It gave her time to calm herself, think through the changes in her appearance, and simply enjoy the near-solitude. She was halfway through the book, wrapped up in the story. There were moments, while reading, when she would start, and realize she was only hearing the sound of a neighbor's door slamming shut. So many years of running left her edgy, and it was hard to tell herself to relax, to read, to be at peace for a little while.

From the kitchen there came the call, "Dinner's about ready!"

Whatever it was Suisen was cooking, it smelled amazing. Food on the run was usually out of tapcafs, and usually the flavor came mostly from the great deal of grease involved. Even on Nar Shaddaa, where she had a kitchenette, she rarely cooked for herself. Cups of instant noodles, sometimes frozen or dried meals, premade. Fresh vegetables and fruit, rich grains – they were not readily available in the run down grocery stores. Eating at the house usually involved wholesome, if somewhat bland foods, things that fussy children would eat. Barriss slowly adjusted to Nura's cooking, primarily fish, greens and either rice or bread. The smell emanating from the kitchen now was not the simple smell of pastas or the pungent aroma of seafood; it was savory and complex.

Barriss edged her way into the kitchen, hovering back while Suisen tossed something colorful around in a wok, adding a dash of some brownish liquid seasoning, which hit the hot pan in a salty cloud of steam. Suisen looked over her shoulder and smiled. "Five minutes. Have a seat. The tea should be ready."

The kitchen table was small, with seating for only two, but it was set nicely with turquoise colored square plates on plum colored mats. Linen napkins were folded into triangles and set beside the plates, silverware resting upon them. As a centerpiece, there was a glass teapot, and within it, a fully blown pink blossom nestled within spiky grey-green nettles. The water was stained a silvery hue. "Chandrilan Flower Tea," Barriss breathed, touching the side lightly to determine how hot it was. The surface was hot, but not scalding.

"You've had it before?" Suisen asked, turning off the stove's burner and scraping the food onto a waiting platter.

"A long time ago," Barriss admitted, pulling out a chair and seating herself. She poured herself a cup, steam streaming up from the spout. She took a sip; the sweetly sharp taste was clarifying, and she savored it, letting it roll across her tongue as she smiled. Master Unduli would occasionally share a cup of tea with her, and she'd sat with Master Kenobi a few times as well. Flower Tea required a pot to steep properly, and she usually only had it while at the Temple. There was no time during the war, no need to keep something as frivolous as a teapot on a star cruiser. She set the faintly steaming mug down and folded her hands in her lap, bowing her head slightly in remembrance of the Temple and those who once dwelled within it.

Suisen set the platter of piping hot pan noodles on the table. Though everything was stained somewhat brown from seasonings or sauces, it was still colorful, with blooms of white cruciferous vegetables, leafy greens, yellow legumes and what appeared to be crescent shaped nuts stirred in. A large fork stuck out of it, and Barriss helped herself, scooping a hearty portion onto her plate. Suisen poured herself a cup of tea.

During the past few weeks, she'd adjusted to healthier food, but the first mouthful of the stir-fry seemed to burst with flavor. It was not spicy, more savory than anything else, but her eyes watered. It was a light meal, but the taste was rich. "This is delicious."

Suisen chuckled. "Thank my mother for making me learn to cook." After taking a couple bites of her own, she added, "I do hope you like the new clothes."

Barriss' fork hesitated halfway to her mouth. She frowned a little, shaking her head. "To be honest, I'm not sure." She felt exposed, odd, not herself. Though at the same time, it felt good not trying to hide. Not completely, anyway. Suisen seemed content with that, taking a thoughtful sip of tea. "I do appreciate the thought. And your allowing me to stay. It's been nice to have a quiet afternoon, at least."

Suisen laughed a little, dryly. "The children _are_ exhausting."

Her tone wasn't quite sarcastic, but it was droll enough that Barriss paused. "So is shopping. But do you not like the children?"

Suisen gave her a disbelieving look for a moment, then laughed. "I spend half my days chasing them around work, then do the same when I'm up at the orphanage visiting. Yes, I like the children," she shook her head and flicked her fork offhandedly, "But I also like coming home at the end of the day and not chasing them around. A little peace and quiet always does a world of good."

As they again lapsed into silence, a floaty, mechanized tune began to drift from the other room. Suisen straightened in her chair, and then a broad smile spread across her face. "Excuse me a moment," she said, hurrying towards the sound of her personal comlink going off.

Barriss turned back to her meal, but the smile and tone of Suisen's voice was unmistakable. Echo was on the other end of the call. A light-hearted laugh from the other room, followed by some quieter murmurings, seemed to confirm it.

Poking at her food, Barriss ate slowly, twirling the noodles around the fork and then spearing a bit of vegetable. She was never quite sure what to make of the relationships Ahsoka, Behri and Suisen were in. Ahsoka, she believed, had developed her attachment to Rex before the fall of the Republic. Though it made her uncomfortable to admit it, that she could understand. Rex chose Ahsoka over orders. Ahsoka was lucky. Unbelievably so. She did not know, were her situation different and she was with Gree and the 41st, if any of them would have done the same for her. She wanted to believe so, but knew it was not true; Master Unduli was dead, and Gree because he tried to kill Master Yoda. Or so Ahsoka claimed.

Ahsoka was lucky. Ahsoka had Rex. Not everyone turned against her. She was protected, not left in a pile of trashed droids to pull herself out.

The noodles tasted suddenly bitter, and she swallowed them quickly, taking a long sip of the sweet tea. The surface of the mug seemed cloudy for a moment, and she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back old tears as much as the new, jealous ones she hated having.

"I'll be taking you home in the morning," Suisen said cheerfully as she returned to the kitchen, though her cheerfulness faded as she slid into her seat opposite Barriss and saw her expression. "Are you alright?"

"How can you trust him?"

"Excuse me?"

Barriss lifted her head, feeling her confusion and frustration abruptly reach a boiling point. Any of the clones, even Rex, could turn against them. True, they were now fugitives themselves, if they were still believed alive, but if the 41st, good men she'd fought beside for years, could strike down Master Unduli and try to kill Master Yoda, who knew what else they were capable of? She balled her fists, trying to understand. "How can you trust him? How can you know he's not going to just turn on you? Do you know how many people, Jedi or not, that clones have killed since the end of the war?"

Taken aback, Suisen simply stared at her for several long seconds, and Barriss flushed with embarrassment over her outburst, and shame that her emotions got away from her so easily. This was supposed to be an opportunity to calm down, and now she was all but growling at her hostess. She put an elbow on the table and covered her eyes with a hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude."

The sound of pouring tea caused her to move her hand from her eyes, and she saw Suisen refilling her cup. Her face was a little pale, but her hands were steady and her lips pressed into a determined line. "Stormtroopers have killed since the end of the war," Suisen said with quiet firmness. She set the teapot back down. "It is stormtroopers who have killed, not clones. Echo, like Fives and Rex, never carried that designation. I do not know, for certain, what Waxer did or did not do while one of them. Cody…" she sighed and shook her head. "To be honest, Barriss, I never knew any of them at that time. I can only judge them on who they are now. And I see good men. Flawed and imperfect, like any other people," she leaned back in the chair and sighed, "but good men, at heart. The kind of atrocities you speak of have been committed before, in one form or another throughout history, and not always by clones or even by Sith. I can only judge them as far as I know them."

Suisen's face was gentle, if worried. Her words, though, did not try to calm Barriss or reassure her of the clones' goodness. It was her perspective, nothing more. "That's your own judgment, though," Barriss returned. "Maybe Rex, Echo and Fives did get out before they were required to do anything else. But Waxer and Cody served under the Empire for years. '_Just following orders' _isn't good enough. They're people, not machines. How can they not be held responsible for their crimes? If Palpatine or Vader suddenly did one good deed, does that make up for a lifetime of crimes against humanity?"

Suisen picked up her mug of tea and sipped it slowly, frowning. "I don't have all the answers for you, Barriss. And no, I don't think one good deed would make up for everything Palpatine or Vader have done. But I also do believe people deserve a second chance to make things right. Echo teaches the children every day. Fives collects information or helps with their training. Rex fights alongside Ahsoka, smuggling out Force-sensitives and deserters as often as transporting weapons or medicine or food. Waxer raises the kids like they're his own. Cody smuggles intelligence between planets. In one way or another, they're all undermining the strength of the Empire, either by strengthening localized rebellions or training Force-sensitives.

"The original intent of prison was to teach people repentance. It's where the word 'penitentiary' comes from. Like it or not, Order 66 is not illegal." She held up a hand as Barriss took an outraged breath and prepared to argue. "It is not illegal. It doesn't make it right or moral or justified, but it is not illegal, under the Empire. Echo and the others are doing their own penance, either on behalf of themselves or on behalf of others. I cannot say what their own individual motivations are, but they all believe they're trying to do the right thing."

"Stormtroopers probably also think they're doing the right thing."

"And that is why there is conflict and complexity in war and politics. People don't agree on what is right."

Barriss closed her eyes and sighed, then ran a hand through the newly shortened length of her hair, unsure of what else to say. Suisen's argument was entirely reasonable, and Barriss suspected her own feelings on the topic were ruled more by emotion and betrayal than sense. It did not make it easier to deal with. She could not trust her feelings; they left her conflicted, overwhelmed and pained. Reason, though it offered a route to acceptance of the situation, did not give her any peace.

As the quiet drew on, she heard the scrape of Suisen's fork against her plate as the other woman returned to eating. Barriss tried to pick at her food, and slowly worked her way through the meal. Once her plate was empty, she said, standing, "I'm tired. I think I'm going to sleep."

Suisen looked up from her own empty plate and nodded. "Of course."

Leaving the kitchen, Barriss returned to the living room and began to prepare her place on the couch, spreading out the blanket and fluffing the pillow a bit. She set aside _A Study in Vermilion_, and found herself looking again in the decorative mirror hung on the wall. She still did not look like herself. Not Jedi, not fugitive. Something in between, something formless as of yet, resultant of an indistinct sense of self. She looked away from the mirror, reached into her backpack, and pulled out a set of pajamas.

Barriss slept fitfully that night.

* * *

Barriss shut the front door behind her.

It was mid- morning by the time Suisen dropped her off back at the orphanage. They'd lingered, quietly, over another pot of Flower Tea and toast, speaking of more meaningless things than the night before. Barriss was still mulling the conversation over in her mind. She knew the clones were individuals. She could not have worked beside so many of them for years without grasping that. They were responsible for their own actions, that she knew as well, and yet it was still hard not to look at their faces and feel fear or betrayal or hurt. Men she'd befriended, trusted, who would not hesitate now to kill her on sight. She knew Rex, Cody and the others even less than she knew the men of the 41st.

She readjusted her backpack, now made even heavier with two flimsibooks filling it, both _A Study in Vermillion_ and _The Symbol of Four_ adding to the weight of pajamas and her clothes from yesterday. She was in a second shirt Suisen bought her, a high collared navy top of snug material. It felt moderately more comfortable than the reddish one from yesterday, now back inside an oversized shopping bag in her hand. She sighed, absently fingering the collar and feeling the bump of scar tissue that ran underneath it.

Hitching the backpack up again, she trundled further into the house; by this time of day, the younglings were either doing homework in the dining area or training outside. Judging by the silence, probably training outside. So far, she'd mostly stayed away from the training exercises, unsure of how to proceed and feeling more than a little unsure of her place in it all. She had not carried a lightsaber in years. Even wielding one of their carved sticks would be strange. But with Ahsoka traveling again, she felt responsible. It was even possible some of them would value meditation or healing training, if any of them were inclined towards medicine. She was the last of the Jedi healers. It was an art that must be passed on, and soon.

A giggled shriek interrupted her thoughts, and Neaera went tearing across the hallway in front of her, lekku flying as she ran. Right behind her was Cody, giving chase and shouting, "Find one of the empty freshers, kid!"

Another fit of giggles was his reply, and he stopped in the crux of the hallways, looking grumpy. He lifted a hand to his mouth and grasped the toothbrush hanging out of it as he turned back towards the refresher, noticing the somewhat startled Barriss in the process.

He stared at her. She stared back.

He was wearing sweatpants and a damp towel around his neck. His chest and arms were covered only in old scars.

It wasn't the endless pattern of damage that was drawn out across her own skin. Most of it was better healed, suggesting bacta had been applied late in the healing process. A couple of them were the thin traceries left from vibroblade wounds. Most, though, were the irregular, almost blotchy blobs left from severe burns, their outlines in almost splattered shapes across his torso and biceps.

She wasn't sure why it startled her so much; Cody had a jagged scar over one eye, and that was easily visible to anyone. He was a soldier. She'd worked on hundreds of injuries on hundreds of clones down the years, and knew most of them were battered in one way or another, each scar a memento of a battle they survived. She drew her arms around her, a ghostly itch running over her own scars, as though in sympathy. The shopping bag she held crinkled noisily as she moved, banging clumsily off her hip as she tried to fold her arms. The noise seemed to snap him back to attention, and he cleared his throat.

"Welcome back," he said. "It's nice. Your hair. Short."

He was turning a weird shade of red. Barriss looked at the floor, uncomfortably. He was practically screaming _embarrassment_ into the Force at the moment, and she wasn't sure what to make of any of it. The floor, at least, was much less disturbing to look at than Cody's bare chest. She fought off an old impulse to reach out, press her hands against his body and try healing what she could. His scars were at least as old as hers. No amount of bacta or Force-healing would make them go away now.

The bag made more crumpling noises as she drew it up to her chest and hugged it. "Yes. Thank you."

Cody began to shuffle in place. Then he said, quickly, "I'm going to go back to the refresher now."

She nodded several times, quickly. When she looked up again, Cody was gone.

Not so different, were their scars of war and time.

* * *

So, anybody want to take a stab at who Suisen's favorite fictional detective is?

Also, wanted to give a thank you to everyone who's reviewed! **KatiaSwift, CCAdventures, Librarian Girl, Kaprikorn, BleachBoy, sachariah, littlelionluvr, doctor anthony, laloga, Clayto, 3LW00D, LongLivetheClones, DoubleEO and outlaw hunter**! I hope you all liked the new chapter, because you all rock! Much love to you all!

Til next time,

~Queen


	6. The Quiet Existence of the Everyday

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Chapter 6. The Quiet Existence of the Everyday

* * *

It was a good day to be outside.

The air was clear and crisp, as it always was on Alderaan. The clouds were steel grey and the wind brisk, the temperature low, but not quite low enough to cause puffs of vapor to form when breathing. The surface of Rex's mug of caf, though, was steaming steadily, and he breathed in the fumes with welcome. After weeks of being cooped up on the _Drake_, fresh air, however cold, was welcome. Though the breeze was as sharp as recycled ship's air, it was fresh and lacked the dryness and the persistent smell of ozone. Here it smelled of the mountains.

The dry grass crunched beneath him as he sat down next to Cody, who seemed to be absently watching the younglings' practice. There were three groups. Ahsoka was with Roo, Thoosa and Temese, observing their movements as they slid through a Shien kata. Waxer and Echo were with the youngest, practicing hand-to-hand set forms, Waxer's voice punctuating the air with numbers as the children dropped into the appropriate stances and strikes. In between the two groups was Barriss Offee, with the children not yet old enough to learn advanced kata, but old enough to learn Shii-Cho.

Rex took a long, warming drink of the caf, the steam heating his nose while the mug was at his lips. Maera and Rithron were inside sleeping; they'd had a rough time of it this last trip, and needed the rest. They'd be leaving again tomorrow. This stop was little more than a refueling, restocking, and quick respite. He watched Ahsoka stalking around the three younglings she was watching, pausing them at times and correcting their stances. A foot more at a certain angle for Roo. A knee bent further forward for Thoosa. A head turned more in the right direction for Temese.

He smiled easily at them, then glanced at Cody. "I'm surprised you're still here. It's been almost two months."

Cody made a noncommittal sound and shrugged. "I thought I'd catch a ride with you tomorrow into Aldera. I've got some things to catch up on." Cody, too, had a mug of caf, but his was no longer steaming. After taking a sip, he made a face at the dregs of the drink, apparently long since gone cold and bitter.

Rex almost didn't catch his next look. It wasn't so much a change of expression as it was a change in focus. Cody's lips were still twisted into a frown, his brows drawn down and his nose scrunched slightly. Instead of looking at the mug, he was, instead, looking at the black-clad woman in the field, instructing the middle group. Blowing out a long breath, Rex took a larger gulp of his caf. "How's she been adapting?" He gestured towards Barriss. "Wasn't a fight, was there?"

That stirred Cody somewhat out of his sullenness. He looked at Rex sharply, almost glaring before looking away abruptly with his face returning to a thoughtful frown. "No. Nothing like that." Then, almost gently, "Nothing like that." He brought the empty mug of caf up to his mouth, then remembered it was empty and grimaced at it.

Unsure of what to make of Cody's odd behavior, he returned his attention to the field, checking first on Ahsoka, who was now leading her group through the exercise. Barriss was pacing around her group, watching them as they moved, but her attention seemed divided between her own group and the group being led by Waxer and Echo. The longer Rex watched, the more pronounced her divided attention became. She always seemed to hover closer to Waxer and Echo's group, and would frequently watch the two men. From the distance, it was hard to tell exactly what expression she wore, but it seemed to be more frown than smile.

"She doesn't trust us," Rex concluded. "Not with the children, at least."

Cody was still, his lips pressed into a firm line, his elbows on his knees as his mug gripped in his hands, hanging between them. "Does she have reason to?"

Cody had just said there hadn't been a fight, so Rex didn't ask again, but he wondered. He'd noticed that Barriss's behavior was hesitant around the men in the house. Though it pained him to think it, he understood she'd been on the run for seven years, alone, and that to her, the face of a clone was the face of an enemy. He hadn't had a chance to speak to Waxer, Echo or Fives about their impressions yet, but Cody's attitude was not a good indicator of her adaptation. Though her fears were understandable, they were unnecessary, and though he hoped his brothers were trying to make her welcome and comfortable, she, in turn, needed to meet them halfway.

"I was hoping you and the others would give her reason to."

Cody remained silent, watchful of the Mirialan Jedi. "Ahsoka's always accepted us. Accepted _you_."

That was true. Without himself, Echo and Fives, she would have likely gone down with Order 66. He and Ahsoka developed a friendship during the war that slowly sprouted into something more. By the time the order went out, he cared too much to be willing to fire on her himself. It gave him reason to question the order, and in turn, reason to desert. His particular relationship with Ahsoka was an odd point of comparison for Cody to mention, though, and he considered his friend again. Cody, like himself, had worked with Commander Offee a few times during the war, whenever General Unduli was involved in a shared battle. They were allies, comrades, perhaps even friends, but the relationship lacked the depth of the one he'd built with Ahsoka.

A new, unexpected concern began to build inside him. Cody was still watching Barriss, still frowning, but it lacked hardness. There was intensity there, but it was not anger or resentment. It was a look more of consideration. He'd seen that look before. First on Fives, starting sometime after their first trip to Ghorman. The second appearance was on Echo, though he'd only glimpsed it – the next time he was on planet, Echo was blissfully regaling everyone with accounts of his first date.

Rex squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and ran a hand over his face, wondering if there was a reason Cody liked to make his own life difficult. "I don't think she'll be responsive to any advances."

Cody shot him an annoyed look, then made a grumbling sound. "I'm going to go pack," he muttered as he stood. He shot a tense look towards the field before walking off. Rex sighed, looking again at the groups, of Ahsoka finishing the kata, turning to look at her future padawans with a smile. Of Echo and Waxer amicably chatting as they watched over the youngest of the younglings. Also of Barriss Offee, trying to model basic Shii-Cho steps, but distracted by her own lingering fears.

* * *

The _dance_ was slow.

Barriss could not completely immerse herself in the pattern of steps, not with the youngling beside her trying so hard to imitate her motions, but she eased herself from one pose to the next with practiced grace. She stepped forward, the wooden blade in her hand sliding into a stab; she turned her head sharply, looking over her shoulder, brought the blunt weapon into a block, tight against her body. She slowed still further, casting a quick glance at the pale haired girl beside her before she brought the sword around her in a circle, stepping widely in the process. Olwen stumbled, the tip of her blade wavering uncertainly as she moved through unfamiliar steps.

Pausing, Barriss waited for the girl to right herself, then proceeded, stopping each time a motion was complete to allow the girl to catch up. They moved in a slow circle, the kata taking them step by step through a battle in which they were the center. Each pause signaled a deflection, each parry followed by a neat riposte. Barriss allowed her consciousness to slide down the length of the blade, which, a lifetime ago, would have been a blue beam of plasma. Her eyes closed, and she could feel herself at the center of the hurricane of combat Soresu was meant to defend against.

_Resilience_. No matter how many opponents, no matter how tiring the battle, the form called Soresu defended against them all, powerful, subtle and allowing the user to stand undiminished against adversaries. She swept her blade around, hearing it slice through air before she drew the weapon into a final stance, one leg forward, light upon the ground, the other back, holding her weight, the closing stance mirroring the opening stance. Soresu was the Form of Resilience, and following its' kata brought a user full circle.

She breathed deeply, easing herself into an upright, relaxed position. She stood still, opening her eyes and looking around. It was a sunny day, and the sun provided some protection against the chill wind of late fall. Turning her face upward, she enjoyed its' warmth for a moment, before saying to Olwen, "You did well, for that being a first time through."

Olwen blinked up at her and shrugged, looking at her smaller sword thoughtfully. "I think I like the Makashi one better, but this is better for fighting more people. So I'd better learn it."

Barriss chuckled. The children possessed a broad range of personalities and maturities, Olwen being among the most serious of the lot, and therefore one of the easiest to manage. The younger girl reminded her a bit of Maera, but Olwen was quieter and tended to be more irascible in personality. "Soresu takes a long time to master," Barriss admitted, "but there is a quiet strength to it. It relies on the reflexes, flexibility, and patience of the practitioner. It is subtle, and it is strong. Do not take an opponent wielding Soresu lightly."

Olwen considered her words thoughtfully, nodded once. "It'd be stupid to take any opponent lightly, especially if they're Sith." Olwen tested out the opening stance again, sinking down and lifting her sword horizontally in one hand, the other stretched out in challenge.

A resounding screech of _pain_ interrupted any further practice. Barriss and Olwen whipped around to find Waxer's group rush into a huddle around Roo-Roo, who was doing the screaming. Barriss shot forward, dropping her practice sword as she covered the lengths of yard between them.

Roo, Thoosa and Temese were beginning to learn blaster work. It was an inelegant, un-Jedi-like form of combat, but it was necessary. In these dark times, they could not go out waving lightsabers around. Barriss couldn't entirely get behind the idea of giving children blaster pistols, but without training on them, odds were against their surviving future encounters. The little group was set up near the tree-line, using wooden placards nailed to the trees as targets.

"I thought you said they were stun blasters!" she snapped as she pushed past Waxer and Temese, the boy hovering and the man trying to calm the girl.

"They _are_," Waxer snapped back, edging aside to provide Barriss enough room. "She's just stunned herself at too close range."

Roo had stopped screeching and writhing, but she was whimpering and clinging onto Thoosa's arm with a death grip. "It hurts!"

"That's because you shot yourself in the foot," Waxer told her, frowning. "These are _not toys_."

"It was an accident!" Roo protested.

Waxer sighed. "I know, but you need to be more careful. If that was live fire you'd only have half a foot right now."

Roo went white under her coral colored skin, and her shoulder-length ear flaps flattened tight against her head at the thought. She seemed to curl up around herself, and Thoosa tossed an arm around her shoulders to offer comfort and support.

Placing her hands very lightly on either side of Roo-Roo's leg, Barriss said, firmly, "Roo, stretch your leg out." Roo moaned and scrunched her leg up higher. Barriss frowned. "Roo, I can lessen the pain, but if you're not cooperating, it will take longer." Roo's eyestalks swung towards Barriss, and she obediently eased her leg out straighter. Barriss gently took it in her hands, pulling it out until it was straight, then slipped her pant leg up to her knee. Her naturally rosy skin was stained a burnished red, as though she'd had a bad sunburn. She ran her fingertips lightly over the epidermal damage, eliciting a wince from Roo.

Her eyes drifted halfway shut, and the world narrowed down to herself, the damage before her, and the Force.

Her hands grew cool, and she channeled that coolness into the skin, soothing and easing the inflammation as she passed further down the dermal layers into the musculature. She found powerful leg muscles still developing in both calf and shin, the tendons running down either side of her tibia scrunched up into aching cramps. The extensor muscles that splayed out towards her three stout toes were tightened, forcing her short phalanges to curl up and back in an unnatural manner. They twinged as she applied gentle force to them, beginning at their bases and gently working downward and outward in the form of soothing warmth. Her own feet, tucked beneath her, ached in phantom sympathy as Barriss eased the pain away, channeling it out into the Force and allowing it to disperse. There was no real separation between herself and the injury – she used her hands as a conduit of healing, summoning strength into them so that she may dispel the pain.

Roo-Roo's leg twitching drew her back, and with a blink she was seeing instead leg rather than the filament-like threads of pain woven through flesh and muscle. Her olive hands stood coolly against Roo's warm tones. She drew them back and looked up. "Any better?"

Roo was wide eyed, looking down at her in incredulity. Tentatively, she tried flexing her foot. It moved, but she yelped in the process, grabbing more tightly at Thoosa. "Isa can move it now," she said, grimacing and trying to move it a second time, this time without jumping in pain. Slowly, she flexed her foot and rotated her ankle. Her eyes were wide as she experimented, gaze flicking from her foot to Barriss and back again.

Barriss shifted positions, sliding around to Roo's free side. She slowly lifted her upright, sliding an arm under her shoulders. "Let's get you up to the house." There was a general shuffle of bodies as everyone moved to make room. Roo favored her right leg, keeping it bent at the knee and swinging it above the ground as Barriss guided her forward.

It took several minutes to hobble up to the back patio, and Barriss set Roo down on the end of the bench beside the table. The other three children were milling around in the center of the yard, Waxer apparently lecturing them on something, presumably why you should not play with the trigger of a blaster, even when it was pointed down. Barriss sighed and looked at Roo's foot and lower leg again, kneeling beside her. The stain of the burn was on the outside of her right leg, as though she'd been holding the stun blaster against her side when it discharged. Stunner rounds usually didn't cause much physical damage, but fired from point blank range, they could still pack quite a punch.

She ran her thumbs over Roo's toes, sliding her fingers between them and gently stretching them down, then back. "Hurt?" she asked.

Roo was grimacing, but she shook her head. "Little bit, but it'sa much better now." She stretched her foot out so she could better look at it. "How did yousa do all that? With the Force?"

"Yes. I was trained as a healer at the Temple."

Roo blinked, taking that in. She looked thoughtful, stretching her toes experimentally.

Barriss smiled up at the girl, then stood. "Keep off your foot for a little while. And no more blasters."

Roo made a face, looking out over the yard. Olwen had both her own wooden sword and Barriss' in her hands, and was tentatively testing out swinging both of them. Thoosa and Temese were veering off from behind Waxer, making for the storage shed near the house where swords were stored. Waxer was walking towards the house with the three stun blasters in hand, all lined up on a small rack. As he climbed the steps onto the patio, he set the rack down and aside.

"Better?" he asked Roo, who nodded, then continued to stare at her foot while she moved it. He appeared relieved.

Frowning, Barriss approached him, gesturing for him to step aside with her. They walked the length of the porch, stopping once they reached the other end and were nominally out of earshot of the younglings. "I thought you were watching them," she said flatly, folding her arms.

Waxer bridled, shoulders going back as he glowered at her and what she was insinuating. "I was watching them. Temese needed adjustment to his grip. I was _right there_."

"And Roo got hurt –"

"That's why we're starting them with stunners," he shot back, annoyed. "They need to learn this."

She scowled up at him. She'd been careful to spend any training time outside, nearby, to keep an eye on what the younglings were learning and how. She let herself go for a few minutes to teach Olwen and enjoy a kata, and it was then that someone got hurt. Vigilance. She needed to be more mindful. The younglings were among the last. She would not have them all injured, or killed, or left alone in a hostile galaxy. Everyone was dead, or nearly. Clones marched into the Temple, slaughtered ancient Masters, young padawans, and even the smallest younglings.

She pressed her lips together tightly, her hands becoming fists. Waxer always took care of them. She saw it daily, his constant presence among them, cooking, cleaning, separating squabblers, playing with them when they demanded he do so. Had he been there, on Coruscant, the night the Temple burned?

She wanted to think he'd keep them safe. She looked at his face, irritated with her but earnest in his protestations.

It left her uncomfortable and uncertain of how to trust him.

"I've been firing blasters since I was a year and a half," he said then, quietly. "Live fire since I was three, and younger than any of them. We're starting slow. If you want, you can join us next time. I'd appreciate the help, especially when Echo's busy with the other kids."

It was a peace offering, she knew. Obvious too was that he knew why she watched training sessions so diligently. She resisted a flush of embarrassment, that her behavior was so transparent. She'd had to learn blaster work. It was invaluable during her years on the run, and she knew that sooner or later it would be again. They did have to learn. Keeping them in ignorance of necessary survival skills was only dooming them in the end.

And she could keep a closer watch on what they were taught, if she accepted the offer. Further observation may lead her to clearer conclusions on the men at the house. She wanted to believe in Ahsoka's judgment, in the honesty of the men. But it was not easy to look at them and not feel an immense sense of betrayal.

"I would be happy to help," she told him, trying to keep the unease out of her voice. Waxer looked mollified at her acceptance, his posture easing and the tension around them beginning to relax. "Thank you."

He watched her carefully, and she tried not to shy under his scrutiny. He did not smile, but he did nod in acceptance, turning away from her to check again on Roo. Left standing alone on her corner of the porch, Barriss sighed, annoyed with herself as much as with the situation.

During her years alone, she'd struggled with feelings of betrayal, resentment, anger and fear. Spending time here was drawing those emotions up to the surface, forcing them out in front of others and leaving her feeling exposed and irritated with herself, for her weakness and for her fear.

She knew what came after fear, and where that path led. She would not join those who walked only in the Dark.

Fear, though. Fear and anger were foes which she could not fight with a lightsaber.

She must be resilient.

* * *

Ahsoka admired the set of shoulders before her.

Rex was sitting on the floor of their cabin on the _Drake_, legs folded before him. Ahsoka was seated on the edge of their bunk, her legs draped on either side of Rex, toes just barely brushing the floor. His head was bent forward, exposing the length of his neck. She ran her fingers lightly down his spine, then returned her hands to his tense shoulders, pressing her thumbs into the muscles and stroking outward, urging the tension to leave. She repeated the process, her sienna hands gliding across his tanned skin.

He always loved getting a massage, she knew. She enjoyed getting them in return, especially her feet. There was something infinitely delightful about leaning back against pillows and watching your husband rub away the soreness of the day. Right now, though, she was enjoying running her hands all over him –well, the upper half of him, anyway. She worked her way up to the base of his skull and then back down again, following the line of his neck and around to his shoulder-blades, funneling energy into muscle tissue and prodding loose any knots of tension.

Rex was always tense. As she ran her hands forward again, she leaned closer and kissed the top of his head. He'd shaved it that morning, and his scalp was still smooth. Ahsoka pressed her cheek against it for a moment, gave it another peck, then returned to the massage. He reached out a hand and clasped her foot, running a thumb over the tender skin where her foot became toes.

"You going to tell me what's causing these this time?" she asked teasingly, prodding a knot of muscle while leaning forward enough that her chest pressed against the back of his head. Her hands did not cease their motions. "You've been twitchy too."

Rex gave a low, brief moan as a knot of tissue unclenched beneath her ministrations. He sighed, turning to look back at her over his shoulder. Ahsoka left her hands on his shoulders, but paused in rubbing. Rex had an odd kind of expression on his face, vaguely amused, mostly worried. It was an unusual combination, and she quirked a brow at him. Something funny was worrying him? Rex snorted, turned back around and sighed. "Cody."

"Cody's making you twitchy?"

Rex tried to chuckle once, but it was halfhearted. "Cody's forming an attachment to Barriss is making me twitchy."

Ahsoka peered around Rex's shoulder, to look at the outline of his face. He was grimacing. "Attachment? A_ romantic_ attachment?" Rex's fingers idly drummed against the bottom of her foot. "To _Barriss_?"

She drew back slightly, startled, letting her hands fall into her lap as she mulled that over. They were both good people. Both had been through a great deal the last several years. Both were reliable and strong-willed. Reserved, though not quiet or shy. Each dedicated to their chosen cause. Loyal.

Initially, she experienced a moment of happiness at the concept, but it was gone almost as quickly as it came. She wanted her friends to be happy, but the match was, to say the least, complicated. She joined Rex in his grimacing. "Barriss is trying to cope with everything, Rex, but…" she trailed off, shaking her head worriedly. "I'm not sure she'd respond well to him, at least not right now."

"I know. And I think Cody knows, too."

Hesitantly, Ahsoka placed her hands back on Rex's shoulders and began to massage again, though somewhat distracted. Barriss worried her. She understood much of the reasons for her fears, and wished she could do more to ease them, but with tensions rising throughout the Corellian sector, they needed to help smuggle weapons and information between one resistance cell and another. Paving the way for a true rebellion had to come before Barriss. The next time they stopped on Alderaan for any length of time, she'd have to talk with her.

Rex was still tense. She ran her nails lightly across the back of his neck, almost tickling, and watched his skin form goosebumps. "Personally," she sighed theatrically as she wrapped her arms around his neck, "I can't even begin to imagine what she could see in some stubborn clone."

Rex twisted around to give her a funny look, which ended with the lifting of an eyebrow. She smiled innocently. There was still a great deal of tension in his neck, but it did draw a genuine smile out of him. His hand wandered up from her foot to her ankle, then to her calf and thigh. "Well, personally, I can't see what he'd like about some stuffy Jedi."

She smothered a laugh with a hand. "Is that some sort of challenge, Captain?"

"Challenge? Hm, maybe." He pulled himself up to his knees and tackled her, clambering up into the bunk in the process. "Perhaps the situation can still be resolved through negotiation." Rex's mock-serious face made her burst out in laughter, and she smiled up at him, twining her arms around his neck as he drew closer, murmuring, "I have a few ideas for the treaty talks…."

Ahsoka, still laughing, flicked her fingers in the general direction of the door, and the light switched itself off.

* * *

It was finally quiet in the house.

Barriss breathed in, slowly, and out even slower. With each breath, she let herself sink deeper into stillness, focusing on the quiet in her mind rather than the turmoil in her heart. As worries persisted, harassing her attempt at peace, she acknowledged them and then let them pass by, allowing herself to float along currents of the living Force. Around her, a few of the toys left out in the basement began to shudder before slowly floating off the cool tile floor. A moment later, she joined them, remaining in her seated position though her body rose. Her hands rested on her knees, upturned, thumbs and middle fingers lightly touching.

A shy call of, "Master Barriss?" drew her out of her meditation, and she sank back onto the floor, the toys dropping less gracefully.

Roo-Roo was hovering at the bottom of the stairs in her pajamas, one hand still on the railing. Her golden eyes were enormous, stalks fully extended as she watched.

"Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for sleep?" Barriss asked, not unkindly.

"Isa wanted to ask you something," Roo said, shuffling forward a little nervously. She twined her hands around each other, wringing them a bit as she edged closer. "Next year, Isa'm going to be old enough to go with Master Ahsoka and Rex. Isa can be a padawan, like Maera and Rithron."

Barriss tilted her head to the side, waiting as Roo scooted a little further into the basement, looking increasingly nervous. "Isa was thinking, after the other day," she shuffled her right foot a little, as though in memory, "that Isa would like learn more about the healing that yousa did. And Isa was wondering if maybe you'd be willing to teach me?" She ducked her head a little, speaking her last words rapidly. "Maybe, if yousa want, Isa could be your padawan instead?"

As Roo ran out of steam, she fidgeted, rounding her shoulders and lowering her head bashfully, though her eyestalks remained raised and she watched for a reaction.

Barriss breathed in deeply. A padawan. This was not how things usually went, but everything about Ahsoka's group and training was unorthodox, so why not this as well? If she was asking, she was at least curious. She considered Roo, and considered herself. "I'd be pleased to teach you Force-healing, Roo," Barriss conceded, and Roo's face lit. Barriss held up a hand, warningly. She wanted – needed – to pass on the skills she learned at the Temple. Roo was as good a choice as any, but a padawan? Barriss lowered her head. It was not so much Roo that worried her as it was herself.

These days, she was conflicted. She wanted to pass on knowledge, wanted to help rebuild what was lost, so that none of the younglings ever lost _everyone_. There was barely even a remnant of the Jedi Order left, but a Knight taking on a padawan when she was so uncertain of herself, so conflicted, could only lead to trouble. She would not handicap Roo with her problems.

"I do not think I will take a padawan, Roo," she said finally, watching Roo-Roo's face fall before it took on a different tone, something more introspective. The Force eddied and swelled for a moment, and Barriss felt it press against her, speeding forward before stopping abruptly, the rapids returning to a slower flow. Roo was no longer frowning, but had a small, contented smile on her face.

"Yousa will change your mind," she declared, straightening. "Isa can wait until then." The small smile spread and she bowed with polite respect. "Goodnight, Master Barriss."

The little girl turned and ran back up the stairs before Barriss could decide what, if anything, she should say in response to that.

She took a breath. Roo seemed so certain, and glimpses of the future seemed to be one of Roo's stronger skills. If Roo was right, perhaps it meant there was, somewhere in the future, a resolution to her conflict.

Taking solace in that potential future, Barriss closed her eyes, rested her hands on her knees, and let herself float.

* * *

This was another hard chapter to write, especially the interaction between Barriss and Waxer. Sigh.

As this series has moved on, there's been less and less emphasis on Rex and Ahsoka, though of course they're still around. It's always nice to write scenes with the two of them, they're so much fun.

Barriss' conflict throughout the story is tricky, and I hope I'm pulling it off – she's knows the clones are individuals, sees everyday that they're trying to do the right thing, but it's immeasurably hard trying to overcome several years of fear and feelings of betrayal.

As always, thank you all for reading!  
~Queen


	7. The Passage of Time

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Chapter 7. The Passage of Time

* * *

It was warmer upstairs.

As she descended back onto the carpeting on the floor, Barriss opened her eyes and breathed out, letting some of the bodily heaviness of meditation fall away. She sighed, but it was one of contentment rather than sadness. She stretched her shoulders a bit, rolling them and twisting her torso from one side to another, taking deep breaths on each as her mind settled back into her body and into the present.

She felt clearer. The middle of the night was apparently the best time to meditate. A lamp was on in one corner of the living room, though dimmed. It let off just enough yellow light to see. The rest of the house was dark. She slept better these days than she did even a few months ago, but slumber was still fitful and light, with little sounds waking her. Someone using the refresher an hour earlier woke her, and, unable to return to sleep, she wandered to the warmth of the upstairs and the clarity of meditation.

The sound of tuneless humming alerted her to someone's approach, and she folded her legs beneath her, preparing to stand just as Fives rounded the corner, idly bouncing a baby against his shoulder. He stopped when he saw her, humming, walking and bouncing, and the baby apparently did not like the lack of motion, since she immediately began fussing and gathering air for squalling.

After a flash of dismay, Fives began bouncing and shuffling again, warily looking at Barriss as though unsure of his welcome in the room.

"I was just preparing to leave," Barriss told him, standing and quickly batting at the hem of her nightshirt to smooth it. She gestured further into the room. A colicky baby Sia had, more than once, woken the whole house with screaming in the middle of the night. The last thing anyone needed was Ctesius and Neaera waking up and deciding they couldn't sleep either.

"She never wants to be down," Fives said, awkwardly stepping into the room and skirting towards the opposite side as Barriss. "Colic's been getting better, though. Hope she hasn't woken you up."

"Not any more than anyone else."

Fives looked embarrassed, and Sia burbled and spat something up. He made a face that clearly read "_Ew, gross_."

Barriss found herself snickering at the sight, at the discomfort on Fives' face and at Sia's uncoordinated flopping around in an attempt to turn herself. Taking pity on him, she extended her arms. "I can take her while you get another rag."

He gave her a strange look for a moment, and she realized it was one of both _surprise_ and _reluctance_. She was not often friendly, and he was not sure what to make of her offer. Her arms lowered a little as she realized her coldness towards the clones was, in turn, shaping their trust of her. It stung a little; she had done nothing wrong.

Waxer tried to extend a peace offering to her not too long ago. Perhaps it was time that she attempted to do the same. Trying again, she said very gently, "I can take her for a few minutes."

Fives deliberated for a moment, looking at his daughter, then at Barriss. He pulled the infant away from him, passing her cautiously on to Barriss, who scooped her up and resettled her against her shoulder. Fives pulled the soiled, smelly rag off his shoulder and bunched it up. "I'll be right back."

It only took Sia a few seconds to begin squirming once Barriss had hold of her, and her father left the room. Imitating Fives' earlier behavior, Barriss began walking in slow circles, rocking Sia lightly in the process and trying to hum something like a lullaby. Her attempts earned her some babyish flopping around, until Sia resettled herself with her face towards Barriss and one chubby set of fingers clutching the collar of her pajamas. The baby puckered her lips and stuck out her tongue before wrinkling her nose and squinting at the larger person holding her. Barriss regarded Sia in turn, noting the honey brown eyes and the wild patches of wispy red-gold hair, which seemed to sprout at random on her head. She was a cute kid. Barriss smiled at her. Sia huffed in response, apparently unimpressed. Barriss lifted a brow. Sia decided to try sampling Barriss' pajama top for flavor.

Half clone, half human. Barriss blew a bit of air between her lips and watched Sia's poofy hair dance in its wake. The baby stopped trying to eat her shirt for a moment to give her a funny look. Quickly bored, she went back to stuffing her mouth with fabric and looking around the room. It had been a long time since she'd held a child, especially one so young. Barriss did not specialize in pediatrics, but she'd spent a fair amount of time working with younglings from the crèche. They seemed to always be coming down with something, or getting into something, or breaking something. Sia seemed no different, only younger.

Half clone, half human. Sia squirmed, kicking little legs. She was warm, and smelled like fresh diapers, just like any baby. Not half. All human.

Fives' arrival in the entryway alerted him to his presence. There was a new rag draped over his shoulder, and he was staring at the two of them, expression guardedly neutral.

"How did you meet Behri?" Barriss asked suddenly, finding herself curious and willing to disregard her own wariness. Perhaps meditating earlier gave her enough peace of mind to broach the subject, or perhaps that it was late and she was too tired to worry about it. Or maybe it was the youngling, whose presence seemed to diffuse some of the tension. "I know she was from Ghorman."

Stepping further into the room, he kept a wary eye on her and the girl in her arms. "We were there, at the Massacre. Behri was taking signatures for a petition for their Senator to take to the Imperial Senate, to try to convince Palpatine to lower the tax rates. She asked me to sign."

"Did you?"

"With what name should I have signed? CT-27-5555?"

Barriss lowered her eyes. She could feel his _irritation_ clearly, though she guessed it was somewhat misplaced. His bitterness suggested he thought she disliked him or his brothers more because they were _born_ clones than for the _actions_ so many of them carried out. That was not true. "Did you tell Behri your name was CT-27-5555?"

His scowl was mild, but a scowl nonetheless. When his _annoyance_ evaporated suddenly, she realized he did not really want to argue either. The heavy sigh he released and the momentary slump of his shoulders strengthened the impression. "We talked," he told her, stepping closer and looking at Sia with no small share of paternal solicitousness. "When the ship descended, we got out of the landing areas together. She saw me with Rex and Echo. Freaked her out a bit."

"She seems to have gotten over it."

Fives blinked at her, startled, but smiled a little at her joke. "Yeah, she did." He reached out and put a hand on Sia's head. She looked up at him and said, solemnly, "Paah," before returning her attention to Barriss' pajamas. "She's leaving quite a bit of drool on you. Sorry." He held out the rag.

Barriss shrugged, mildly. "I've dealt in far worse than baby drool." Fives tried awkwardly dabbing at a string of saliva that was making its' way over Barriss' shoulder, gave up, and slid his arms under Sia's shoulders, lifting her away and putting her back onto his shoulder and the rag. She wriggled agitatedly, tried stuffing the rag in her mouth, spit it out, and began complaining. "Guess she likes your shirt better than the rag," Fives said, just before Sia stuck her hand into his face and tried to grab his lower lip. "No, _no_, that's not going to come off for you to play with," he told her, lifting his head out of the way. Sia twisted around and flopped her arms over his shoulder, apparently in great disappointment. "Behri tells me she takes after her namesake. Theatrical and hungry."

Barriss chuckled, and something in Fives' face softened further. He said, "I wasn't sure what to do, when Order 66 went out, you know."

The lighthearted feeling in the room died and Barriss felt herself grow suddenly cold at the mention of the first of the pogroms. She looked away, but Fives continued. "I followed Rex's lead in the end, but I tried to kill Ahsoka." Barriss flinched, turning enough to look at him from an angle. She wrapped her arms around her waist, clutching her elbows with her hands. "I didn't know what else to do," he told her. "All my life, everything was about following orders, not asking questions and being loyal to the Republic. More than that, I wanted to be with my brothers. My family, or the closest thing I had to it." He hefted Sia a little, who turned her head and began sucking on her fist. "Wasn't until I had to protect Roo and Nura that I realized how badly things had gone wrong. I know it's no excuse, for what's happened since, but I don't think Order 66, Order 37 or any of the others were simple cases. There's reasons things have happened the way they have. Not good reasons, but reasons. I'm sorry, for everything that's happened."

"I know," she told him, and the truth was she did. She looked at Fives' earnest face, at Sia's curious one, and relaxed a little bit. "I'm sorry you and the others were ever put into such situations to begin with."

Sia buried her face into Fives' neck, and Fives' said, "I never served with you, Commander Offee, but I'd heard you were good to those who did."

Her chest ached. The 41st. The 41st who murdered Master Luminara in cold blood. She turned aside and fought back queasiness. "Did you ever speak with Gree?"

"Commander Gree? Not personally. A few of the others, a couple times. Cody or Rex would be more likely to have known him."

"I see. Thank you, Fives. I'm tired. If you'll excuse me?"

He backed aside, letting her pass, and she could feel new _worry_ coming from him, so swift on the heels of a surprised sense of _sympathy_. She did not mean to leave so brusquely, but after what felt like a step forward, she did not want him to watch her deteriorate again.

She left him standing in the living room, holding his daughter while she hurried for the sanctuary of the basement and her cot there. This late at night, at least, it would be private.

* * *

The hour was late, but not too late.

Most members of the household were in their rooms. The children were sleeping, but the adults were still stirring here and there; Barriss could hear the occasional sound of voices through walls, or of someone walking along floorboards overhead. It was quiet, and though it was somewhat earlier for meditation than she'd planned, the living room was warm and dark, save for a single, flickering white candle placed on a tray in its center.

Ahsoka sat before it, her hands resting lightly on her knees, palms down, eyes closed, the tips of her lekku furling and unfurling with each inhalation and exhalation. The candlelight warmed her face, casting her white markings in a yellow glow. Her eyes opened after a moment, and she glanced over to Barriss, standing in the archway. She smiled. "Rithron falls asleep and Maera concentrates too hard."

Barriss chuckled, entering the room and settling herself across from Ahsoka. She folded her legs neatly and put the backs of her hands onto her knees, fingers finding their way into a clarifying gesture, fingers touching her thumbs. "I seem to recall you complaining about how boring meditation is on several occasions."

Ahsoka rolled her eyes but grinned. "Don't tell the padawans that."

Barriss laughed again, lightly, and the two women settled into their poses with familiarity, backs straight but relaxed, shoulders down and tension flowing away from themselves. Barriss spent time candle gazing at first, watching the flame waver back and forth in little currents of air that crossed through the room's ventilation. After a time, the flame lost its focus and a loop of rainbow colored halation gathered around it. She closed her eyes and drifted, letting there only be a sense of darkness and a little light pressing against her eyelids. She could feel the others in the house, of their peaceful dreams and fretful ones, of worries and of cares as well as sleepiness and contentment. She let their feelings pass her by as much as she did her own.

Still, the longer she stayed in her meditative state, the harder it was to flow along the currents of her mind and of the Force. The surface of her thoughts remained calm, but below that surface something deeper stirred, an undertow of pain that was not her own.

Ahsoka's brows were puckered together, her lips turned into a dark frown. "You're troubled," Barriss said, concerned. Ahsoka sighed and looked at her, abandoning the meditation.

"Sorry. Still can't do this sometimes," she said with a smile, though a sad one.

Barriss frowned a little at the evasion. "That was not disinterest. Did something go badly?"

Snorting once with a wry look of amusement, Ahsoka shook her head. "On this last trip, no." She looked at the white candle and the amusement faded back into a sorrowful kind of ache. "Sometimes there's just news about…" she trailed off, bit her lip and shook her head. "About Vader."

"There is always bad news about Vader."

The candlelight reflected on Ahsoka's face, the deeper shadows cast on it accentuating the grief written there. Her shoulders slumped and she seemed weary, suddenly, and older than her years. Turning her hands over, Barriss gripped her knees lightly. Ahsoka had decided to quietly take on the galaxy in the aftermath of Order 66. Barriss respected her for it, even as she envied it. She never had such an opportunity, had no one to side with her or support her or defend her. Ahsoka did, and though her worry about any moves Vader or the Empire may make was understandable, this ache felt too personal and too old to be yet another complication from the Empire.

Her head was bowed, montrals striped near black in the low lighting. "It's more than time I told you."

The weight in her words fell almost as a physical blow. _Betrayal, pain, heartache, loss. Grief_ and _loss_. Barriss shuddered at the heaviness of it, struck by how strongly those emotions clogged the Force, and how reluctantly Ahsoka allowed her to view them. "I told you Master Skywalker died in Order 66. That is only true, I suppose, from a certain point of view."

"A certain point of view?" Barriss echoed, feeling less and less certain about what she was hearing. Did Vader kill Master Skywalker himself? "How could it be true only from a certain point of view?"

"There is nothing left of Master Skywalker. There is only Vader." Ahsoka looked at the white candle and the little light it provided. She smiled, but there was no humor in it. Her voice wavered and broke. "And I always pray I am wrong."

Still for several long moments, Barriss opened her mouth only to close it again. A shiver ran from the crown of her head down her neck and arms, finally settling like a fist of ice in her abdomen. Her voice was thin and high when she finally found words to speak. "Anakin Skywalker is Darth Vader?"

Ahsoka merely closed her eyes and bowed her head, her silence a confirmation. Barriss shuddered, placed a hand to her mouth and pressed it there, her eyes blinking wildly for several seconds. She and Anakin were padawans at the same time, at least for a little while. They were peers if not friends, at least until his ascension to Knight. His ferocity in battle was legendary, but to turn to the Sith? "Why? How?"

Ahsoka flinched, then sighed. "Master Skywalker was married to Senator Amidala. Secretly, of course," she added, looking pained. "I didn't know. Obi-Wan didn't know. Nobody knew. I should have known, but I didn't, and things somehow went down from there. I don't know all the specifics. Just that he was afraid of losing Padme. And he did. Obi-Wan told me that they dueled on Mustafar, that he followed Padme there when she went to plead with him. But by then he was already gone. Obi-Wan disabled him, but," she sighed, shaking her head, "all that did was complete the transition. The next time anyone saw him, he was in that suit. Completely unrecognizable in every way." She touched her chest, as though there was a length of cord there, a bond that once connected them. "He was gone. He nearly killed Padme on Mustafar, and in a way he did, but later. She died on Polis Massa." Ahsoka hesitated. "Giving birth."

Barriss' attention refocused on Ahsoka, who appeared calmer now, but somewhat distracted. Her voice was dispassionate, her gaze steady on the candle as though its light steadied her. "There was a child?"

Ahsoka blinked once, hard. "Yes. Now in hiding."

The conflict within Ahsoka was so deep it was hard to perceive. It stirred low in the depths of her mind, slow and heavy. Barriss suspected she was still not getting quite all of the story, but she was unsure if she wanted to know more. More pain, more loss, more suffering. She hung her head, chiding herself for earlier thoughts of Ahsoka not suffering as she had. They each carried different burdens, and though she despised her own, she would not want the load Ahsoka carried – Master Luminara was her teacher, her mentor, and in most ways, her mother. Even dead, she was enshrined in her memory as a woman of great knowledge, skill, empathy and strength.

Perhaps the 41st would have turned against her. At least none of them were Darth Vader himself: evil, hate and rage made incarnate.

"I am so sorry," she said thickly, unsure of what else to say. She felt ill.

Ahsoka tried to smile, but it was too pained to take shape. Silence stretched between them, the weight in the air making it too difficult to try to meditate. Barriss bit her lip, looking at her friend. "Are you not afraid?" she asked after a time.

Ahsoka nodded. "We're always cautious to stay away from Vader. I can't risk a confrontation with him."

Concentrating her focus on the flickering candle, Barriss nodded. "That too. You said, though, that he was married to Senator Amidala?" Her head lifted and she looked at Ahsoka with consternation. It was attachment, always described as a danger to Jedi. "You're married to Rex. Aren't you ever…?" she trailed off, not wanting to suggest Ahsoka was about to turn to the Dark Side. "Don't you think it dangerous? To trust like that? He betrayed you. The Jedi. All of us. Aren't you angry?"

Ahsoka merely blinked at her for a moment, then chuckled wryly. "Sometimes. But in the end, it was attachment that saved me." Though the lighting in the room was low, the chevrons on Ahsoka's montrals and lekku darkened a shade. "Nothing really happened until a couple years after the war ended, but Rex and I had developed some feelings for each other by then." Barriss looked away from her, a twisting feeling of guilt and loss in her gut. "He kept the others from killing me. In that case, attachment led to life. Echo and Fives were attached to Rex as brothers would be. He and Cody saved them on Rishi, promoted them to ARC troopers, kept them alive throughout the war. That too was attachment. Rex and Cody's attachment kept Cody from killing Rex when they met once during one of our raids, and in turn Rex and I were able to get Cody out when the time came. Cody's friendship with Waxer caused him to alert us to Waxer's desertion. Their survival and their presence here saved lives. Most of the younglings here would be dead or trapped by Imperials if it weren't for the results of those attachments. Attachment is neither good nor bad. It simply is, and its' rightness or wrongness is determined by how it is used, rather than its presence."

That was an argument she knew well. Not from arguing about attachment, but rather about the nature of the Force itself. Most Jedi believed in a clear delineation between the Light and Dark Sides of the Force. Most Mirialans, though, believed in a more rudimentary doctrine, in which a person's actions determined their fates. Merged with Jedi belief, it long since led her to conclude that the Force merely existed, and it was its' use that determined its malevolence or beneficence. Years of running and hiding made her suspect she was mistaken, that the Dark Side was more active and insidious than she'd ever believed, but to hear her own original beliefs echoed in Ahsoka's argument for attachment, she found herself doubting again.

It was her friendship – her attachment – to Ahsoka that stayed her hand when she could have killed Cody. What was friendship but a form of attachment? For so long, she'd feared being close to anyone again, of establishing those bonds of friendship and family and love. Once, it had been so much simpler. The memories she'd treasured of friends and loved ones turned to ash in the aftermath of Order 66.

"Then you argue for something between. A balance."

Ahsoka smiled, more genuinely now. "Yes, something like that."

"You make it sound so simple, even with Vader. How can you forgive him? For everything?"

"I'm not sure I do. But he was my Master, and maybe my brother as well. I have to at least try, for the sake of memories and maybe my own sanity," she said more lightly. There was still weight in her words, but she was struggling out of her melancholy. Ahsoka leaned a bit closer, her blue eyes keen even in the darkness. "Barriss, is there someone you're trying to forgive?"

Barriss looked away sharply. "No. Who would there be?"

Ahsoka leaned back a little bit, looking at Barriss with consideration. She seemed, though, to decide discretion the better part of valor, and said nothing, though the suspicion on her face remained. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

Ahsoka arched a white brow, and Barriss sighed. "No, but I will be." Her hands tightened on her knees. "I need a little time. I'm going to try to meditate."

With a nod, Ahsoka unfolded her legs and stood. "I'm not sure I'd get much meditation done anymore," she sighed. "Good luck?"

Barriss managed a smile. The flippancy of wishing her good luck at meditating after such a heavy conversation was almost silly. "Thank you."

Ahsoka turned to leave, but she hesitated after a step. "Barriss, I'm really glad you're here."

There was such a warmth of _joy_ in that statement, it nearly brought tears to Barriss' eyes. "I'm glad I can be here."

Not alone. In this place, she was not alone, and she hoped the memories she had, of this place and time, would not turn bitter or pained. "It's good to have a home again."

Ahsoka gave her a warm smile and a slight bow. "Good night, Barriss."

"Good night, Ahsoka."

With her departure, Barriss was left to her own thoughts.

* * *

PHEW. This was a fun chapter to write (especially with Fives and baby!Sia) but the conversation between Barriss and Ahsoka was intense! I really hope I'll pulling Barriss off here…the further into this story I get, the more I realize what a bundle of nerves I've turned poor Barriss into. I'm hoping it all makes sense and I'm getting everything across clearly. She's juggling a dozen different conflicting emotions and it's hard to keep them all balanced out – especially since Barriss is usually so reserved and sensible. Flipping out is not really in her nature (though I might flip out if I can't wrestle with all of her angst anymore!).

As always, many thanks to those of you following along! DoubleEO, sachariah, Elven-Spear, laloga, ThosWeretheDays, Elizabeth, CCAdventures, outlaw hunter, KatiaSwift and BleachBoy! You all rock!

~Queen


	8. The Ghosts of Rememberances Past

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Chapter 8. The Ghosts of Remembrances Past

* * *

Dinner was quieter than usual, though that was not to say it was quiet.

The children were all there, minus the two padawans, who were off with Ahsoka on a mission in the Corellian sector. The men were also gone, drafted into what was apparently a larger scale operation than the customary ones that involved smuggling and intelligence relay. They'd been gone three weeks already, and the house seemed emptier than usual without Waxer, Echo or Fives.

Ahsoka had invited her to join them. The thought of going out into the galaxy, of showing herself, chilled Barriss and she declined. In the subsequent weeks, however, she could not help but feel some regret. She knew too well when she'd grown afraid; before she merely kept her head down and accepted that she could do nothing. That was no longer true. Fear was one thing, but cowardice was another, and she was finding that she did not like being left behind. Perhaps it would soon be time for her to take up arms again.

The concept did not dismay her as much as it once would have. A small smile settled on her face, and she pulled the steamer tray out of the cooker, revealing a healthy helping of violet string beans. She turned the tray over and scraped the beans into a bowl with a spatula.

"I can take it," a voice offered, and a pair of large hands appeared beside her. She set the empty tray down.

Of all the men who called the orphanage home, Cody was the only one present. He'd arrived earlier in the day from his own travels, appearing without announcement on the front stoop. He'd stunk like a bantha and hadn't yet debriefed anyone on where he'd been or what he'd been doing. His hair was damp and though the kitchen smelled strongly of dinner, she could smell shampoo on him. It was much more pleasant than bantha.

He was waiting, with a somewhat uncertain smile on his face. His hands were extended, palms out. She quirked a brow. He was trying very hard to project _friendliness_, but there was an underlying _want_ directed at her that made her smile more widely. Clones were always hungry, she'd learned that well down the years, and though Cody's metabolism was much more normal now than during the war, he apparently still liked to eat. Or maybe he just really liked string beans? It was rather funny.

She passed him the bowl, repressing her laugh but not her smile, and his broadened, tentatively at first, then into something wide and almost goofy. He seemed to realize he was looking silly, and he cleared his throat, making a more serious face. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He began to turn red at the ears, and quickly moved towards the table and the group of rowdy younglings trying to set it with plastic dishware.

She was glad he didn't seem to hold their manner of meeting against her. Barriss folded her hands before her and leaned back against the countertop, watching him place the bowl down amid all the children.

He had tried to kill Master Kenobi, though he'd failed the attempt. He'd brought her to Ahsoka, to safety, because of his attachments of friendship. Did he not have a friendship as well as a camaraderie with Obi-Wan? Why, then, did he turn so easily?

Cody seemed to sense her observation of him, and he met her eyes as he pulled out his chair at the end of the table. He smiled, _friendly_ and still _wanting_, though a little bit _hopeful_ now too.

Attachments were neither good nor bad. They simply were. She sighed, straightened, and went to join the others at the table.

* * *

The turbolift doors slid open and the sound of laughter rolled out of them.

"You are teasing me," Barriss accused, stepping forward and shooting Gree a look of amusement.

"Felucians have mood swings!" Gree insisted in return, grinning as he fell into step beside her. They proceeded down the dark corridor slowly, the harsh white lighting that usually illuminated the hallway set low, since it was late in the ship's night. Stars streaked by outside the transparasteel window. He continued, "Violent ones. You can always go on a rampage to scare them off."

Barriss rolled her eyes. "I'm far more concerned by the Separatist forces than by crazed Felucians."

Gree continued to smile, but it sobered somewhat. "They'll respect a Force-user, but their behavior is known to be erratic. Don't let them see weakness, if you ever encounter them. The Force affects their brains somehow. Addles them at times. I know I'm no Jedi, but that planet's toxic in some way."

Her footsteps stilled. He was worried about her, trying to protect her though he could not be there to do it physically. Gree stopped a moment after she did, turning to look at her. "I will be careful," she told him, her voice lowering and growing soft. Her smile, full of amusement a moment ago, faded into something more sad.

She was leaving. Now a General and no longer a padawan, Barriss was leaving the 41st, Master Luminara, and Gree. They'd been together three years – the whole duration of the war. In some ways, they'd grown up together, experiencing real battles at the same time, growing harder and more skilled in each combat situation. Felucia was the most bloodied of battlegrounds. Losses there were massive. She would be arriving with fresh supplies and her skills as a healer to assist Master Secura and the 327th. It was her first assignment as a Knight. She was eager to prove herself, but nervous too.

Gree moved forward, closing the space between them. He opened his mouth as though to give her some encouragement, but closed it, not having the right words. "_You'll be fine_," sounded trite rather than heartening. His hand moved slowly, though without hesitation, towards her face. His fingertips, made heavy from his gauntlets, found the edge of the diamond pattern on her cheek and traced it. "You'll be missed."

She leaned into the touch, accepting his attempt at comfort. The deep tenor of his voice was husky with emotion, and she could feel an ache of _loss_ emanating from him. Beneath that, though, there was the low, steady presence of _wanting_. In exchange, warmth pooled in her, spreading out from her core down through her arms and stomach. She placed a hand on his chest, his armor no longer white but all the shades of the jungle, rimmed in black. She could not feel his heartbeat through the armor that marked him as a soldier.

It was not their first kiss, but it was their longest. It was light, wistful, a kiss of promises and hopes, and of the desires behind them rather than of passion alone. He tasted of goodbyes, this time, rather than consolation or curiosity. He tasted of salt and of warmth.

He rested his forehead against hers, and she smiled faintly, bumping him. "Keldabe," she said.

He chuckled, standing as he was. "You always found that custom amusing."

"Only a Mandalorian would find a head-butt romantic."

"Should I get a kama?" he laughed, but it quickly turned bittersweet. This could go no further. It never had gone further. A kiss, a bit of shared pain or joy, and they let the moment pass. Barriss closed her eyes and bowed her head, and he placed a heavy hand on top of her lighter one on his chest. "Maybe," he laughed awkwardly, clearly uncertain of his words, "after the war, we can do more of this?" He squeezed her fingers.

She looked at their hands, his black gloved ones overlaying her green. It was not possible for them to do more of this. He knew that. She was under rules she would not betray. Even this much was more than truly allowed. Similarly, he was held to rules of proper conduct, drafted into participation in an army he could never leave. Though there would someday be an end to the war, there would never be an end to the demands their lives placed on them. She would not leave the Jedi, and he would not ask her to, for he already knew her answer to such a question.

He had no intention of ever leaving the service of the Republic either, she knew, even if given the choice. He was not asking for something literal. He was asking for a hope, a daydream, something more personal to think about than his loyalty to the Republic. He wanted her favor to take with him into battle, something to remind him of his humanity. In turn, it would give her something to cherish as well, a pretty promise of a happy future. She flushed, turning her hand around to lace her fingers through his. "After the war. Yes."

Their hands lingered that way several more moments. Slowly, Gree straightened his fingers and slid them out of hers, stepping away and straightening himself. Barriss lifted her head, squared her shoulders, folded her hands neatly before her.

They stood across from each other in the corridor, straight and still for several moments. Gree shifted, inclining his head. "General Offee."

"Commander," she acknowledged, walking forward.

He fell into step beside her, and neither knew it would be their last meeting.

* * *

The kitchen smelled of caf, which meant someone must already be awake.

Barriss supposed it must be Behri; Sia kept her up most nights, and without Fives around to share in parenting duties, she was keeping irregular hours. Barriss breathed in the warm smell of caf as she ascended the stairs. It smelled wonderful, though she'd never developed a taste for it - too bitter- and always preferred the complexity of tea. This early in the morning, a cup of tea would be both warming and welcome. The basement was freezing at night.

As she reached the top step and entered the kitchen, she found it was not Behri, but rather Cody, who was making the morning's first pot. He was turned towards the counter, toasting bread and waiting for his caf, arms folded over his chest. It percolated though the caf maker with repeated snorting and wheezing noises. She smiled vaguely at the sight. "Good morning."

He started, turned to look at her as she stepped silently into the kitchen and began to rummage through the cabinets in search of a teapot and kettle. Finding the kettle, she filled it with water from the sink and set it to heating on the stove, moving with practiced efficiency. She'd formed a morning routine, and she followed it as she always did, altering her movements to avoid bumping into Cody as she moved.

"You're up early," he said suddenly. The caf maker wheezed liquid. It was still dark outside. He had the kitchen lights low.

She set Ahsoka's teapot on the counter and admired it for a moment. It was plain white with patterns of black branches across it. She dropped a bulb of Chandrilan Flower Tea inside and glanced at the stove, checking on her water. "So are you."

"I get up early."

"And I don't sleep through most nights." Barriss considered the inside of the conservator, and what she might want for breakfast. She bit her lip, thoughtfully.

"Would you like some toast?" he asked, gesturing towards the dark brown loaf he had sitting out and a jar of zoochberry jam.

She looked at him. He was trying, as he had last night, very hard to be friendly towards her. She looked down for a moment. There was no harm in it. "Alright," she agreed, and he smiled, turning his attention back to the toaster just as her kettle began to whistle. She switched off the stove and moved towards her mug and teapot with the kettle and a hot pad in hand, pouring the water into the teapot. Opaque, she couldn't watch the flower unfold from the heat, but already she could smell the sweet fragrance of it. She inhaled deeply, lowering her nose to it so that she could breathe it in more easily; the bracing smell of caf was much stronger, though the percolating seemed to have stopped. The kitchen grew quiet except for the pleasant clink and scrape of Cody preparing the toast and jam. Barriss set the lid back onto the teapot to let it steep, and the hot kettle onto the pad.

"What is it?" Cody asked, coming to stand beside her, a mug of caf in one hand and the other with a plate filled with two slices of jam covered toast in the other. He set the plate down closer to her empty mug, obviously intended for her. He sipped his caf with a quiet slurp.

"Chandrilan Flower Tea. Suisen gave me the package." She tapped the canister of tea with a finger. He offered her toast, so in turn, she offered him tea. "I don't suppose you'd like some?"

He grinned, answering by taking a long, loving swig of his caf. She rolled her eyes a bit but couldn't resist a smile in return. Clones and their caf. Jango Fett must have had caf in his veins instead of blood. Cody seemed inordinately pleased by her amusement, and he smiled more widely, some of that _want_ from last night's dinner bubbling back up to the surface. She pushed the plate towards him. "If you're hungry, eat." He considered her for a moment, then took one of the slices off the plate and bit into it. A splotch of the garnet colored jam stuck to the corner of his mouth as he chewed, a just shade or two darker than his lips. Barriss quickly diverted her attention back to her tea.

The mood was comfortable. She frowned a little as she poured herself a cup of steaming liquid. She was reluctant to dissolve the peace in favor of something that could easily cause argument, but she wanted to know, and he was here, and relaxed, and perhaps would not take her question as an attack. She braced herself, stiffening her shoulders and curling her hands around the mug. It warmed her skin within moments. She drank, letting the tea's rich mixture of bitterness and sweetness and warmth fill her, strengthen her.

She approached the topic gently. "May I ask you something personal?"

His mug of caf was halfway to his lips when it stopped. The weight of his gaze grew heavy, and she could feel it on her neck, on her scars. She kept her head down, focus on the gleaming grey surface of her tea. She didn't put it bluntly, didn't ask, '_Why did you try to kill Master Kenobi?'_ or, '_Why were you willing to kill Jedi?'_ or even '_Would you have killed me?' _ The last, though, was not his question to answer, and belonged to a man who was long since gone. She chose carefully. "Why did you stay with the Empire?"

Cody set his caf down and was silent several moments. Barriss waited, holding her tea in her hands and focusing on its' heat. She could feel him standing beside her, considering her question and his answer. She considered shuffling back a step or two – they'd ended up standing close from the sharing of food. Now he felt too near, too much in her personal space, but she did not want to appear to retreat. She stood still.

He began roughly. "In the beginning, it was what I believed in." Barriss looked up at him to find him, in turn, looking at her, but once their gazes met, they each quickly turned away. "I know, now, it's no real excuse. Everything was always about loyalty, about following orders. I believed in the Republic and what it stood for. I'd always been taught obedience and skill were the measures by which I'd be judged. Maybe that was naïve, but it was what it was." He clenched his hands slowly into fists.

"Later, though, it was about brothers." He returned his attention to her, and she lifted her eyes from her tea to meet his. "I carried out orders that put people to death. Order 66 was one of them." Barriss flinched and looked sharply away, but did not move. Squeezing her eyes shut, she breathed deeply, calming herself and reminding herself she needed to hear this. She inclined her head, urging him to continue. "But there were others, too, later. But as a Commander, I at least could control some of it. Lessen the damage if I could. Try to keep my men human instead of droids. Interpret orders in ways that minimized casualties, on both sides."

She asked it softly, just above a whisper. "Then why did you leave them?"

"After awhile, there wasn't much left to save."

Something inside him seemed to fracture. It did not shatter, but it hurt, deep in his chest, an old ache that was dull from constant existence, though it lived under layers of other feelings suddenly turned raw. The onslaught of emotions, of his _bitterness, helplessness, desperation, regret_, _loss_ and _loneliness_ was suddenly everywhere, overwhelming, though his expression did not change and his body did not move to reflect it. He merely stood still and looked away.

It was painful to experience them, more so because they were so harrowingly similar to her own.

She moved on instinct. Her hand found its way to the center of his chest, and her fingers could feel his heartbeat through the warm fabric of his brown shirt. Her touch startled him, and he snapped back to attention, looking down at her slender hand and up her arm and then to her face. It all changed again, with that touch. The bitter aches of _loss_ and _loneliness _were scattered away by something warmer, hopeful, _wanting_.

It was not hunger, the wanting. She knew that now. She'd experienced it before, many years ago, and it drew her. It would be easy to become lost in such a feeling, welcomed and wanted and protected. Cherished and _loved_. Supported. Not _alone_. He would taste of muja and salt and familiarity. She could have back what she had so missed. She leaned closer, heard him take in a heavy breath, felt him expel it slowly across her face. He pressed closer, leaned into her hand. Same lips, same nose, same eyes. But there was a scar where there should not be.  
_  
He was not Gree_.

She came back to herself with a shudder and a gasp, stepping away. Cody's face fell, and she turned so that she would not have to look at him, embarrassed by her own lack of control, of consideration. She could feel his _hope _turn to_ disappointment_ and something akin to _shame_. These past months she'd experienced the push and pull of loneliness and suffocation, of distrust and isolation warring with the overwhelming presence of concern and welcome. She was surrounded by people, and yet could not feel comfortable with them. For him to feel something sweet for her reminded her too strongly of memories long since turned bitter and of futures that could not come to pass.

Everyone was dead. Even Gree.

Cody turned away from her, and she heard him move around to the dining room table in brisk agitation. Venturing a glance, she saw him lift up a large knapsack and sling it around his shoulders, fingers nimbly adjusting straps so that it fit him more comfortably.

"You're leaving?" she said, and nearly winced at the broken breathlessness in her tone.

He became still and silent, and somewhere in the distance, she could feel an uncertain reemergence of _hope_. "I can stay longer, if you like."

Her hands found the edge of the counter and tightened there. "That is not necessary."

That little pocket of burgeoning _hope _faded into nothing, replaced by his own sense of bitterness. "I'm not sure when I'll be back. Tell Rex and Ahsoka I'll meet them on Pantora when I've got new information."

"I will."

He straightened, inclined his head politely with his departure. "General Offee."

Then he was gone, and she heard the door in the front of the house open and shut. Her hands did not ease their grip, and she stared down at the half empty mugs of caf and tea, cooling on the countertop.

"I am half-sick of memories," she said.

* * *

Cody stood for a moment on the front porch.

His hands slid under the straps of his knapsack, fingers tightening until his knuckles turned white.

It was stupid of him, to have hopes about her. Her smiles were a delusion. He'd misunderstood her intent.

It would be best to leave, to stay away from her until he worked this foolish crush out of his system. He was a clone, and beneath her. She could never feel anything sweet for someone like him.

He turned, and left.

* * *

And…right about here is where you might want to read _Five Times_, if you haven't already. There are several references to it throughout the chapter. It's a bit shorter than the others, but there was no need to lengthen it unnecessarily. Seriously, writing the entire scene with Cody and Barriss, I wanted them to randomly fling their arms around each other and just snog each other into comas already. XD Oh the angst! I don't usually write this much angst….

Ohhh, I know. Bonus AU Mini-Scene!

* * *

She moved on instinct. Her hand found its way to the center of his chest, and her fingers could feel his heartbeat through the warm fabric of his brown shirt. Her touch startled him, and he snapped back to attention, looking down at her slender hand and up her arm and then to her face. They stared at each other for a long minute, then reached out, Cody's arms circling her waist while her arms circled his neck. While they fumbled with each other, their mouths met and they leaned against the counter.

Kissing was _so_ much better without the stupid armor.

A few minutes later, they came up for air. Both had significantly mussed hair and swollen lips. "You needed a good kiss," Cody commented with a grin.

Barriss scowled playfully at him and shoved him lightly. "As did you. More?"

"More."

Their caf and tea were ice cold by the time they were done.

* * *

Tada! Much better. XD

And as always, to everyone who's reviewed...you rock! sachariah, KatiaSwift, Kaprikorn, DoubleEO, Elven-Spear, Queen Ceilidh, outlaw hunter, laloga, CCAdventures, Ash Veran, Mastermind, doctor anthony, Much Ado About Nonny, Librarian Girl, Bleach Boy, Silver Wolf, ThoseWeretheDays, and Farfumsane!

Til next time,

~Queen


	9. Still So Early in the World

**Warning**: There is a scene of strong **domestic violence** included in this chapter. It is in the first part. If this will upset you, **be warned**.

* * *

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Chapter 9. Still So Early in the World

* * *

Maera absolutely loved her mother's clothes.

Everything about them was diaphanous and shiny, glittery and small and bright. She twirled in front of the mirror on the wall, a rhinestone studded tiara sparkling between her brows and rising up over the mounds of her lekku, the pale green of the false gems accentuating the dark pink of her skin. Crimson ribbons trailed from the headpiece, rustling around her and falling onto her shoulders. Her lekku themselves did not quite reach her shoulders yet, but would soon. A couple more inches. A few more months. She beamed and tugged at them, willing them to grow and look more like the grown up Twi'lek ladies. She'd get some of those pretty patterns drawn on them someday, or buy pretty silver jewelry to spiral around them. They were too short for any of that now, though.

So she enjoyed the tiara and the ribbons and the golden shirt with cut out bits, which her mother filled out just with her top, but Maera imagined was a dress for herself.

There was a sigh from across their little studio apartment, and her mother emerged from behind the paper screen that partitioned off their sleeping area, dressed in loose fitting, warm clothes that draped rather than clung. Her arms were full of clothes from work, and a pair of bangle bracelets slid off the top of the pile. Ata reached down and scooped them back up, deposited them on top of a narrow dresser overflowing with cheap jewelry. She bent her head down, sniffed at the clothes, and made a face. They reeked of smoke and sweat, and unfortunately not all of the sweat was her own. She grimaced and began to shake the clothes out, placing them on hangers and storing them on the bar she'd extended from the ceiling to serve as a closet.

Maera spun and extended her arms. "Mom, am I pretty?" She shook herself a little so that the ribbons danced and the shiny gold shirt glittered. Her mother made a strange face, then smiled.

"Yes, Maera. Very pretty."

Maera pulled at the top of her 'dress', which obviously was meant to be filled with body parts she didn't have yet. She examined the extra material. "Will I have stuff like this someday?"

Ata made another face, but again smiled, though this time it was more strained. She knelt down and tugged the headpiece off of Maera's head, combing her fingers through the ribbons to untangle any knots. "Probably," Ata told her, placing a hand on her head. "Come on, take all that off. It's getting late."

"Can you read me a story?"

Ata chuckled and set the headpiece aside, gesturing for Maera to raise her arms. She pulled the golden shirt off over her head, tugging it carefully down her lekku and away. "Which one do you want?"

Maera thought for awhile while her mother refolded the golden shirt. "The one about me."

"Again? You have that story memorized."

"But it's about me!"

Ata laughed and tweaked one of Maera's lengthening lekku. She'd bought Maera a children's holobook with a large compilation of stories in it, most of them from Ryloth, several weeks ago. There was an old, simplified legend about a warrior queen who united several tribes when a group of slavers attacked them. Ata loved the story as a child, and wanted her daughter to have a strong name and association with it. As hoped for, Maera took to the tale, envisioning herself as the heroine – though apparently thought her namesake wore the clothes of a lounge dancer, since they were appropriately glorious to wear.

Maera took after Ata, physically. She inherited Ata's darkly rosy skin, which appeared Lethan in the dim lighting of bars, clubs, cantinas and lounges. The exoticness of the red color on Twi'lek women made it an enticing draw for paying customers, and Ata was able to find work fairly easily. Not that working as a dancing girl paid much, and she worried about the future. She was drawing close to the end of her prime. No one would hire an old woman to dance, even if her skin was nearly red and bore only a few early wrinkles.

For now, though, she tried to keep them fed, clothed and housed. Her paychecks went straight into one of those three things. She was picking up bartending from work, and hoped it might provide enough money in the future, if she could get a job at it.

"Put on your pajamas. I'll read it to you once I have the kitchen cleaned." She cast an eye on the corner of the apartment that served as a cooking and eating area. Most nights, like tonight, she brought in leftover food from the lounge. Most of it was greasy, but Maera loved all the warra nuts.

Maera beamed and scuttled over to the plastic box that held her clothes, picking out her pajamas as Ata began tossing garbage into a bag. She ducked behind the paper screen and exchanged outfits, folded up her daytime clothes and put them away. Her bed, a mat on the floor, was just across from her mothers'. She crawled into it, pushing the blanket back so she could crawl in, and pulled her holobook from under the pillow, flicking it on and smiling as the main picture scrolled up onto the screen, of a pair of heroically posed Twi'leks in pretty, old costumes. They stood dramatically before a windswept landscape her mother told her was supposed to be Ryloth.

She could read. Not very well, but she could a little. She opened the book with a flick of a finger and sought out the letters she wanted in the table of contents, the one that had her name in them. She tapped the right title with a finger, and the book seemed to fold into itself, graphics swirling around until they reformed with the story at the bottom of the page and pictures on top.

There was a pounding on the front door. Maera looked up, hugged the holobook to herself. It was probably the Loud Man again. He was Twi'lek too, and huge with muscles, and he acted nice but didn't really mean it. He brought her things sometimes, little presents, but his smile was always fake. He felt like some of the rich Hutts that came into her mothers' workplace sometimes, and told her she was cute, then said dirty things about Mom's work friends. Maera didn't like that. And he was always _loud_.

Gathering her legs under her, she got onto her knees and shuffled forward to the edge of the screen. She peered around it. The pounding came again and again and she watched her mother pace agitatedly in front of the door, lekku twitching wildly behind her. With a snarl of frustration, Ata opened the door a crack, keeping the old style chain up.

Maera couldn't quite see what was happening, since her mother was blocking the crack in the doorway. The conversation was one sided at first – her mom was hissing, and the Loud Man was the only one she could hear.

"I have a right to see her too!" he was bellowing. Maera grimaced and clutched her book tighter. It always started this way, and her mother always let him in, eventually. "She's _mine_!"

Maera looked at the story cover. She didn't belong to anyone. Only slavers owned people and slavers were bad. She scowled, then looked around the screen again, watching. Maybe if she pretended to be really sleepy, the Loud Man would go away because she was little and tired. Someday, she'd learn to fight like the Maera in the story, and she'd tell the Loud Man to go away, and if he didn't, she'd push him into the dirt and stand over him victoriously, and she'd banish him, and he'd acknowledge his defeat and run away. It was a good idea. She'd be able to do that, someday.

"You are _drunk_," Ata was pointing out, and Maera cringed. Mom was using her serious voice. That was never a good sign. Maybe Mom could push him in the dirt and stand over him victoriously? She grinned. Mom didn't like fighting, though, so she probably wouldn't. "You are not coming in here like this!"

The Loud Man's voice changed. Maera shivered, thinking of the rich Hutts at the lounge. It became sinuous. Slimy. "You used to like it."

"Your stinking breath?"

"No, my big – "

"Out!" Ata roared, slamming herself into the door with all her weight, trying to close it. The Loud Man cried out in pain – Maera couldn't really see why, but he probably had his hand or foot or something in the doorway – and then roared back, much louder. Ata screeched, and there was a horrible pounding noise, then the sound of something cracking.

Behind the screen, Maera yelped and clapped her hands over her ear cones, clutching them as she huddled over her holobook and squeezed her eyes shut. This was bad. He was _breaking and entering_. She knew about that, because one of her mom's friends told her about how someone did that to her apartment, and she had to call the police. Maera looked around, but was too afraid to move. Where was Mom's commlink? She lunged forward towards the big golden purse and fumbled with it, pushing past her Mom's other things. There was more shouting, and more cracking, and then there was a horrible bursting noise just as Maera's fingers closed around the commlink.

The Loud Man had finished _breaking and entering_, and now he was inside. Her mother was screaming something, slipping into Twi'leki, and Maera hit the top button on the communicator, unsure of who she was calling. A cheerful female voice picked up on the other side. "Ata? Hey, what's up? Ata?"

The cheerful voice turned into a worried voice, calling her mother's name over and over, but Maera ignored it. The Loud Man was wrestling with her mother, and the two of them, screaming, were locked in combat like in one of the stories, except her mother wasn't also a big male. She was pushing him backward towards the door, still shouting in Twi'leki. The Loud Man grappled back, freed an arm, made a fist, and dropped it straight down on top of Ata's head, striking her at the base of one of her braintails.

Ata fell like a stone to the floor.

Maera dropped the communicator, the tinny voice of the woman on the other end now frantic and screaming. The Loud Man was breathing heavily. He smelled like the sweat and the smoke of a cantina. He looked up from Ata, turned slowly to take in the rest of the apartment, and his eyes fell on Maera, crouched on the floor around her mother's handbag.

He didn't shout anything, for a change. He just stomped over the floor and grabbed her by the arm. "See what your mother made me do?" he snapped at her, aiming her, not at Ata, but at the broken door. "She's going to want me to pay for that, now!" He shook her, hard. His breath smelled badly of stale whiskey, and she gagged. His voice changed again from cruelty to a croon. "You won't grow up to be like that, will you, little girl? Because you're a good girl."

He pulled her against his chest, tightly, one arm around her waist and another around her neck. Maera gagged, both at the sight of her unmoving mother and the muscles pressing into her throat. She kicked, feebly, but the Loud Man just swung her around, headed for the door. Her legs dangled. She whimpered, afraid.

This wasn't how the Maera in the story acted. That Maera was strong, and powerful, and she could strike down three men with one blow. She could throw them down into the dirt with a single powerful punch.

Maera closed her eyes. It couldn't be that hard. Just like in the story.

She wrapped her hands around the Loud Man's arm, dug her nails into his skin – and _pushed_.

* * *

"I am not the police," said the man in the official looking, military uniform.

Maera curled up closer to her mother, who had an arm wrapped around her protectively. They were sitting on the edge of a bed in a medicenter. Maera was still huddled in her coat. She felt comfortable there, since it was big and bulky, and she could sink into it, almost as though she could disappear.

She didn't like the man in the military uniform. He appeared a few minutes ago and began saying polite things, and asking polite questions from her mother, but he kept looking at her. She kept her eyes down and her head low in the collar of her coat, and pressed hard against her mother's side. Mom was better, the med droids had taken the little pieces of electronic equipment off her lekku an hour ago, but she still had strips of bacta around her wrists and one between the mounds of her lekku.

The man in the uniform was very proper looking. He was human, and middle-aged, with a bit of distinguishing grey around his temples. His grey uniform had several little bits of colored jewelry on it. He was holding a writing pad and stylus, taking notes. He listed to her mother, but he watched Maera.

"I don't really know," Ata said, wincing and placing her free hand to her head. "He broke in, and he was drunk. I usually don't mind if he sees Maera, but he always got mean when he was drunk," Ata winced and squeezed her eyes shut. "I tried to keep him out, but he broke in the bolt. My building doesn't have many of the automated locks, mostly just old ones. I tried to get him to leave, but then he hit me. When I woke up, there were police and medics and Maera was crying."

Maera squirmed a little as Ata tightened her grip too much. She ventured a look at the military man. His expression was sympathetic, but his eyes were cold, flat and grey. She looked back at the floor. He was not loud, like the Loud Man, but he reminded her of him. There was the same sort of wet, slimy feeling about him, though he was polite and quiet. A Quiet Man. She didn't like him.

"If there is anything else, you must tell me. The local authorities," he said, somewhat disdainfully, "will be preparing for a murder investigation, of course."

Maera felt her mother shudder and grow cold. "I was unconscious," Ata protested faintly.

"Of course you were," the Quiet Man replied silkily, smiling. "That's why it's so important you tell me everything you can remember. Your daughter too. I hope to be able to help, but I can only do so if you help me in return."

"What do you want?" Ata's voice grew thin and brittle. Her body grew stiff. Maera pressed her lips together tightly. She recognized this kind of interplay, between her mother and some of the men in the lounge, usually rich ones.

The Quiet Man laughed quietly, an amused, distant sort of chuckle. "Just the truth, my dear. Don't look so frightened. I'm in his Excellency's service. I wouldn't ask from you what some might." He reached up a gloved hand and trailed his fingers across Ata's cheek. Maera glared up at him, feeling her mother shiver and grow suddenly nauseated.

The Quiet Man smiled mildly down at her for a moment. "I'll need your statement as well, child. Be more willing to talk next time. I'm a patient man, but that patience is not infinite. Especially with disobedient children."

Maera did not lessen her glare. Ata simply nodded. The Quiet Man continued to smile. He straightened. "I'll be back soon, Ms. Lanta. Until then, rest."

He gave a polite little bow and left, the curtain partitioning their area flicking behind him.

Ata breathed heavily, then rubbed at her cheek as though to erase the memory of fingers there. She sighed and looked down at the top of Maera's head, pressed tightly against her side, just under her arm. "Maera, we can be in a lot of trouble if you don't tell him what he wants." She leaned down and kissed the girl on top of her lekku, trying to ignore the ache in her own. The dizziness was passing, but the pain was not yet gone. "He's much more powerful than we are."

"I don't like him, he's a liar," Maera protested, voice muffled from her mouth being buried in her coat and her face pressed into her side. Ata sighed again and tried to think clearly.

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do, he's slimy and a liar and he's creepy too."

Ata shook her head. Maera had always been perceptive, though Ata never really understood how she came to such conclusions. She had no proof the man was a liar, though she certainly knew he was creepy and enjoyed using his power over her. She shuddered at the memory of his hand on her face. It was as much a denial as it was a promise, and she doubted that even if she did submit to him, it would not change anything. He wanted something – not her, but something.

Finding her ex-boyfriend dead of a broken neck did not make things look good. The question was, how had it happened? When she woke up, there was a medic hovering over her, and police in her apartment. Everything was a mess. It was possible Melanion had thrown some things after knocking her out, but even as a strong male, he could hardly have cracked walls, shattered all of what little furniture she had, and somehow manage snap his own neck in the process.

And Maera was sitting in the middle of it all, wailing hysterically, completely unhurt save a series of finger-shaped bruises on one arm. Ata rubbed her brow, pressed her fingers into it and wished the pain would abate. Maera was entirely too small to cause that kind of destruction. The only reasonable answer was that Melanion had done it, but the authorities were skeptical since he was dead of a broken neck.

As the only adult around, that left her under suspicion. She closed her eyes and tried to tell herself it would work out. She couldn't go to jail. Not with Maera to care for.

"Mom, I have to use the refresher."

Ata gave her a strained smile. "All right. Come on." She stood and offered her daughter a hand.

They were still in the emergency area, in a maze of curtained rooms and nurse stations, manned by droids and the occasional man or woman. The whole place reeked of the sickly sweet smell of bacta and the somewhat fetid smell of sickness, blood and injury. The smell of cleaner masked most of it, but it had a chemical sharpness that was little better. Ata wrinkled her nose and wandered through the maze, reaching the main hallway. She looked at the nurses' station and asked, "Refreshers?"

The droid sitting at the desk looked up and waved stiffly down the hallway. "Please proceed down the hall. Refreshers can be found on the left hand side. Have a pleasant day."

"Thank you." She tugged Maera a little, who was staring in the opposite direction. Ata followed her gaze to find a pair of white armored men standing near the exit, each armed with particularly ominous looking black blaster rifles. She felt her blood drain from her face a little. Stormtroopers? Real stormtroopers? Here? Why? First one, then the second, looked up, straight at her.

She blinked once, then plastered her most sultry smile on her lips, tilted her hips a little, and looked at them from under her lashes. She chuckled, looked down at Maera meaningfully, and laughed a bit, shaking her head in a way that let her lekku swing attractively. She waved her hand dismissively, as though to say, "_What can you do?_" The two men inside the armor changed their posture from suspicious to amused, their weight moving back to their heels and their shoulders straightening, their grips on their blasters relaxing. Ata kept her smile up, tilted her head a little, and made a clear gesture for Maera to keep moving.

She swayed her hips and her lekku as she ushered Maera a few steps further down the hall and into the refreshers. It was a small room, with only a few stalls in it. The doors were all open, and the room otherwise empty. She breathed in thickly, covered her face with her hands, and pressed her back to the door.

"Mom?" Maera asked, uncertainly.

Ata smiled. "Use the refresher, Maera. Quickly."

Now nervous looking, Maera complied, scurrying into one of the stalls. Ata pressed a hand to her mouth, then over her eyes as tears began to swell up in them. Stormtroopers. A military officer. They had to be with the investigator. But why would the Empire be interested in a domestic dispute, even if it ended in a murder? Melanion could barely hold a job for more than a couple months, he couldn't be important enough for an Imperial investigator's interest! She herself was just a lounge dancer, barely able to make her rent and keep herself and Maera fed and clothed! Nothing the Empire would be interested in! Why an investigator, and why one with armed guards?

A toilet flushed, and Maera came back out and went to the sink to wash her hands. She was just barely tall enough to get her arms over the edge of the sink without a step-stool.

"Maera," Ata asked, "Could you tell _me_ what happened? After Melanion came into the apartment?" Maera turned the water off and shook her hands in the air, sending water droplets flying. She made a pouty face, and shuffled a little. "_Please_, Maera?"

The pout faded into a more frightened look. "I pushed him away."

"You pushed him away?"

Maera nodded. Ata sighed. "How did you push him away?" Maera was too small to fight off Melanion. It was one of the things she'd liked about the man, when she first met him. He was strong, and knocked down two men at the lounge who were trying to manhandle her. It was heroic, or it had seemed so at the time. Unfortunately, Melanion couldn't control his temper against much of anyone, she'd discovered. Ata sighed, pushing away thoughts of better days. Maybe Maera meant she squirmed out of his grip? Ata frowned as Maera started moving, lifting her hands up as though there was an invisible arm around her neck, and bending her knees as though to brace herself.

"I did this," she said, squeezing her eyes shut as she slowly pushed her hands out, fingers splayed.

Ata found herself suddenly rocketing backward into the door, all her air rushing out of her lungs. The mirrors above the sinks cracked from side to side, and the garbage bin next to the door slammed abruptly into the wall, hard enough to dent its' metal casing.

Ata gasped, trying to get air back into herself, staring at her daughter who was standing in the middle of the room with a look of complete horror, then terror, on her face. "Mom?" she squealed, rushing forward. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Are you okay? I was trying to make it like in the book, and then everything blew up, and I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to hurt you, I'm sorry!"

Maera's words stumbled into each other in a confused litany of panic, and Ata, still catching her breath, pulled her closer and automatically petted her lekku soothingly while she stared around the room. There were no cracks in the walls, but the stall doors were still swinging, and the cracks in the mirrors were definitely there.

She gulped in air. The investigator was there for Maera. The stormtroopers were there for Maera. The apartment was torn apart by Maera. Melanion was dead because of Maera. The refresher was almost torn apart by Maera.

How?

Ata replayed what she just saw in her mind. Maera's stance, her pushing outward, the result. Who could do things like that? Who could push against air and strike blows hard enough to break walls? She tried to think of the right word for it. She'd seen it in holos before. The use of…telekinesis. That was the word. Telekinesis. It was usually some sort of hero using it in the holos, like a Jedi.

Jedi. She shuddered violently, and Maera looked up at her in fear. She smiled brightly, pushed Maera's head gently back down, and continued stroking her lekku soothingly, now as much for herself as for her daughter. She'd never seen a Jedi, but she'd heard of them. Everyone had. Jedi were amazing, and special, and powerful. In the old holos, they were these amazingly wise, powerful, awesome beings of nobility. More recent holodramas portrayed them much more negatively, as deceivers and terrorists and people of evil intrigue, worming their way into galactic politics.

She wrapped an arm around Maera and hugged her tightly. A decade ago, the Jedi were friendly. She could have tried to find one, maybe. A decade ago, she would have thought this was, if not her chance, then Maera's. If Maera was a Jedi, then she'd go to Coruscant, and have the best teachers, and the best education, and the best home, and a noble profession set before her. She'd never have to worry about rent or food or having clothes or living on tips given on whims of fickle customers. She'd grow up to be a hero, like in a holodrama. Like in that fairy tale book she loved so much.

Ata had nothing against the Empire. Officers who came into the lounge usually tipped well, and usually kept their hands to themselves. At least, more than most. They were disciplined. There was a lieutenant who came in regularly to see one of her friends, whenever he was on leave. Before today, whenever she thought of the Empire, it was usually in positive, if somewhat distant, terms.

But Jedi…wanted lists didn't scroll across HNN the way they used to, but she remembered a few years ago, when they did, when it came out that the Jedi were trying to start a coup d'état against the government.

Jedi were not heroes. Jedi were criminals. If Maera was a Jedi, then she'd be arrested or captured. She'd killed Melanion, however accidentally. What did the Empire do with Jedi children?

She didn't want to find out.

Ata leaned her head against the back of the door and looked at the ceiling. She had to get them out of here. Off planet. The Outer Rim, if she could. Ryloth. Surely two Twi'leks could disappear on Ryloth. She bit her lip and tried to keep herself from crying. She had no money with her. She couldn't go back to her crime scene of an apartment to get what little she did have, and it was doubtful it would be enough for both of them anyway. Maera was too little to take care of herself. It had to be both of them.

And how could she get past the stormtroopers? The investigator? He'd be back, and sooner rather than later. The lounge. Memnon might know; he had some connections. He used to work as a smuggler, when he was younger, before he opened the lounge. He might know how to get them off planet. He usually took care of his girls. He might be willing to help. If not…if not, she'd worry about that when the time came. She had to get Maera out of here.

On the ceiling, there was a sensor for fires. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. It was a stupid idea, but it worked in holos. Create a distraction, slip out in the chaos it caused.

"Maera," she began, as calmly as she could, "Maera, look at me. Are you alright?" Ata smiled and rubbed her thumbs under Maera's eyes, drying what tears she could. Maera hiccupped once, then nodded. "Alright. Maera, I need you to listen and be brave right now, okay?"

Maera nodded, looking confused. Ata smiled encouragingly, and Maera responded by giving her a weak smile of her own. "I want you to do that one more time, okay? But up towards the ceiling. See the alarm? I want you to push that, just like you did earlier." Maera looked dismayed, but Ata smiled and hugged her. "I'm okay, I promise. You didn't hurt me. Just surprised me a little, that's all. We're going to leave early, but I don't think that man will want us to. We're going to take a little trip after we leave here. Would you like to go to Ryloth?"

Maera's eyes got wide and round. "Ryloth?"

Ata nodded, keeping her most professional smile in place. "Yeah. It's about time we got away from all this. But we need to get away from the creepy man. For that, I need you to break that sensor up there. Really set it off. We need lots of people in here right away. Can you do that?"

"It's okay?"

Ata placed a hand on Maera's head and rubbed it a couple of times. "I'm your Mom. Do as I say, silly girl."

Maera nodded slowly, then turned around and looked up at the ceiling. She bit her lip in concentration, and lifted her hands. Ata climbed to her feet and stood off to one side, bracing herself against the wall and turning her head.

A resounding crack sounded through the room, and the mirrors shattered, sliding to the floor as alarms began to shriek through the refresher and the hallway outside. Ata grabbed Maera and pulled her against the wall, as the sound of shouts and running feet joined in all the noise.

Water began spraying from the ceiling, and Ata's lekku curled up from the icy spray. Two droids burst into the room, squat and spraying chemical foam everywhere. In one smooth motion, Ata scooped up Maera and pushed out into the hallway, where people were running around frantically. Several other droids were hovering, while nurses and med droids were herding patients down the hallways. Ata shoved her way past the hovering droids, keeping low until she reached a group of patients being hurried down another hallway. She clutched Maera to her tightly, and cast a quick look back the way she came.

The two stormtroopers were shoving their way through the droids. It wouldn't take more than a couple seconds for them to realize she wasn't in the group outside the door. She broke into a run.

She charged out onto the skywalk, hesitated for a moment as she tried to decide which way to go. Without any money, she couldn't summon an aircab. She had to get somewhere she could lose the stormtroopers, and get to work. She turned right and ran down the street, ducking down the first alley she found.

Ata pressed Maera's head against her shoulder, clutching her daughter tightly. "Maera, look over my shoulder. Tell me if you see any stormtroopers."

"The men in white?"

"Yes."

"They were on the street but I don't see them now."

Ata turned down another alley, trying to keep herself roughly parallel to the main strip outside the medicenter. Getting lost wouldn't help matters any. She turned right again, then ran up a narrow street, then left to bring herself parallel to the main road again. She needed to get to work, to beg for help, for passage off-world. The lounge was several kilometers from here. She'd need to walk, to run.

"Mom!"

Ata flung herself to the left, and a blue bolt slammed into the building beside her. Maera began screaming, and the sound kept her own terror down. "Maera, you have to be quiet! Quiet!" She pressed Maera's face into her shoulder again, trying to muffle the girl's cries. She spun to the left, hearing the heavy pounding of footsteps behind her. She looked around frantically. They were entering the city's shopping district. The backs of the buildings had signs on them for different clothing stores. She could hear the sound of traffic and people not far away.

She ran, Maera growing heavier in her arms. Ata weaved around another building, darted into an alley, realizing she was growing lost in spite of her efforts to stay oriented. She swerved back towards the sound of people; people meant skyways and skywalks, and that meant ways to the bar districts.

She couldn't out run two stormtroopers. She was just Ata, a dancer, and she was burdened with Maera.

"Maera," she gasped, her breath starting to turn ragged despite the adrenaline pumping through her veins, "Do you remember the way to the Golden Apples?"

Maera turned her head enough to look at her mother's profile, before returning her attention towards the path behind them. Mom was taking lots of different alleys now, and it was hard to tell how far away they were. She tightened her arms around her mother's neck. "I don't know," she replied. She'd never gone to the lounge by herself before. When Mom took her, they were always together. And she didn't really know where she was now.

"Maera, I need you to remember. We're not too far away from home, and we're getting closer. It's still a long way, but if you keep following all the stores, it will eventually turn into the bar district. You remember what that looks like?"

Her mother was getting more and more frightened with every word, more frantic, more desperate. She was breathing heavily and her pace was slowing. Maera began to shake. "I don't know. Maybe?"

Ata gulped in air, staggered forward and set Maera down. "Give me your coat, Maera."

"Why?" she huddled backward, clutching at the front of it, but Ata was already pulling it off of her and bundling it up in her arms. She placed her hands on either side of Maera's face and held it tightly.

"You keep following this road, into the bar district. And if you see any of those stormtroopers, you do just what you did last night. You push them as hard as you can, and you run as fast as you can. Get to the Golden Apples. Tell Memnon what is happening. Ask him for help."

She nodded rapidly, sniffling. Memnon was the owner. He was a big Twi'lek man too, but he had lots of colorful tattoos, not like the Loud Man. There was one of a rancor on his bicep that waved its arms around when he flexed it. It always made her giggle. Memnon was nice, in a big, bluff sort of way. He got angry sometimes, but it was usually at slimy type people. "What about you?"

Ata smiled winningly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm going to meet you there," she said brightly, kissing her hard on her forehead. "I'm going to run as fast as I can. I was a really fast runner when I was a girl." She hugged Maera's coat to her. "I'm going to trick them all. You'll see. You just follow the stores until you reach the bar district. You can do that, right?"

Maera shifted nervously. "Yes?"

Ata had her arms around her, squeezing her so hard Maera could barely breathe. "I love you. _Run_."

Then she was free of the crushing hug, and being pushed roughly towards the sound of people. Mom was tearing off in the other direction, back towards the stormtroopers. She turned right at the end of the alley, running with Maera's coat bundled over her shoulder, as though Maera was still inside it. Maera staggered backward several steps, back behind a row of trash bins, shaking.

The pair of stormtroopers darted past the intersection. They went straight, after Ata.

Maera huddled beside the trash cans and wiped tears from her cheeks. Mom lied a little sometimes, but it was usually about equally little things. This time, Mom lied really big, somehow. She smiled, but she was scared. Really, really scared.

The stormtroopers were bad. She couldn't tell if they were slimy, but their boss was. She pushed herself to her feet and began to wander towards the sound of people. She ran sometimes, and walked sometimes, and emerged into the crowd of shoppers and business people. Everyone was so tall.

She tried, really hard, to do as she was told. She tried to get to the Golden Apples.

But it did not take long for one little girl, alone, to get terribly lost.

* * *

She ran.

Maera couldn't tell how many were after her this time. She'd counted two, but had a feeling there were more. She stumbled, overturning a garbage bin as she raced forward.

She was proven right as she rounded a corner and slammed into a third man, who grappled with her, grabbing at her arms while she writhed. The closer of the other two men closed in, reaching for her as well. She was off the ground, legs dangling, and she swung them as hard as she could, kicking the second man in the face hard enough that he jerked backward, grabbing his eye and cursing.

"I've got her!" the first man called, still with his arm around her, but not high enough to choke her. Maera bent her neck, bared her teeth, and bit as hard as she could. The man released her with a pained yelp of "Fierfek! She _bit_ me!"

Maera scrambled back to her feet, but the second and third men were almost on her. She tried to bolt, but found a fourth figure loom up over her, gloved hands reaching out as well. Maera did all she could do – she lifted her hands and she _pushed_.

It went wrong.

The final figure, a female Togruta, had a single hand in the air, as though catching something. Maera pushed harder, but it was like pushing against a whole building. The woman didn't budge, but she did smile. Maera tried again, harder, but it only earned her a startled grunt and stagger from the woman as well as a wider smile. Her eyes swelled up with tears and she dropped her arms, curling up on the ground and covering her lekku with her hands. She could hear the men approach and stand around her. This was it. Slavers, since they weren't in the white armor of the Imperials, or maybe gangsters. They'd give her to the Quiet Man, or they'd sell her. Her hands moved from her lekku to her eyes as she tried to hold in sobs. She was hungry, and tired, and captured, and lost.

She barely heard the soft sound of someone kneeling in front of her. Then, very gently, the woman's voice came. "That is quite a Force-push you've got, little one."

Maera looked up, finding herself looking into a pair of amused, azure eyes. Her striped lekku swept once, then twice, in a calming kind of gesture, from side to side. Maera sniffled and rubbed her nose, then shivered. The Togruta's amusement faded into worry, the white arches of her brows drawing together. "Are you cold? Here," she pulled off the long brown coat she was wearing and draped it around Maera's shoulders. It was several sizes too big and pooled around her. Maera looked at the woman suspiciously, noticing the concealed weapon holster under her left arm, and the funnily shaped weapon kept there. "We're not going to hurt you, Maeral'anta. My name is Ahsoka." The Togruta placed a hand on her chest, then waved at the nearby men. "That's Echo, keeping watch," she said as she gestured towards the man furthest back. She made another gesture towards the man with one eye half closed from where she kicked him. "That's Rex. He doesn't often get hit in the face." Ahsoka chuckled, and Rex grimaced. "And that's Fives." She paused, then smirked. "He's bad at cards."

"Hey!" Fives scowled, indignantly.

Maera, still crouched low in the alley, looked around at all of them, then back to Ahsoka. The coat was warm, and it smelled mostly like detergent but also a little like sweat and scented soap. Ahsoka was still kneeling, with a calm, gentle smile on her face. "You're not going to take me to the Quiet Man?"

"Quiet Man?"

"The one with the stormtroopers."

Ahsoka's gentle expression darkened, and she frowned. "No. Under no circumstances are you going to the Empire."

She said it with such cold conviction, Maera regarded her again. She didn't feel slimy. She felt…powerful. Powerful and _big_. Maera had never met anyone who felt like _that_ before. She asked in a small voice, "You're not gangsters?"

Ahsoka blinked in surprise, and she heard one of the men behind her chuckle. Ahsoka shook her head and laughed a little. "No, we're not gangsters. I'm like you." Ahsoka stretched out a hand, and nearby, a couple of trash cans lifted into the air, floating for several seconds before they settled back down. "You're wanted by the Empire because you're Force-sensitive, like me. Do you know what that is? The Force?"

Maera wrinkled her nose. That sounded vaguely familiar, like something she'd seen in a holo, but she didn't really remember. She shook her head, but kept staring at the trash. It moved, sort of like the way she pushed things, except slowly and without exploding. She curled back up again, tucking her head between her knees. "What do you want?"

"I want to help you. Get you to safety. And train you, if you'll let me."

Maera considered that, then shuffled a little in place, still huddling. To safety. That meant leaving. She sniffled and wiped new tears away on the back of her forearm. "I want Mom," she said, sounding small.

There was a shifting around her, and Ahsoka spoke again, alarmed. "Where is she?"

The question set off tears. She felt Ahsoka's hands fall very lightly on her shoulders, hesitant but soothing. Mom was gone. Mom had been gone for days now. About an hour after Ata told her to run, she felt an indescribable pain in her chest, and then emptiness. An emptiness that ached and did not stop.

"She's dead."

There was more shuffling around her, but otherwise it was silent for several long moments. "I'm sorry, Maera," Ahsoka told her as her hands lifted from her small shoulders. Maera began to shiver, and she drew the coat more tightly around her, relishing its' warmth but unaccustomed to its shape and smell and size. "I can't replace your Mom. But I can be your teacher, if you let me."

Maera looked up enough to see Ahsoka's checked lekku waving slowly, sadly, before her. The motions were somewhat different than what she experienced with other Twi'leks, but the meaning was the same: comfort, sympathy, protectiveness. A slow reaching out and broadening that she wondered might be acceptance or love.

"People chased me before," she said quietly.

"I know," Ahsoka acknowledged. "We can't stay here. It's not safe."

"Will we go to Ryloth?"

Ahsoka got a confused look on her face. "Ryloth?"

"I'm a Twi'lek."

Ahsoka laughed a little and shook her head. "Maybe someday. Ryloth isn't exactly…well, we've got a more hospitable planet to go to." She reached out a hand, palm up. "Will you come with me?"

Powerful and big. Ahsoka felt powerful and big. Like a big, unmovable mountain that pierced the sky. Maera looked at the offered hand.

She placed her hand in Ahsoka's, and felt some of that solidity envelop her.

Ahsoka felt safe.

* * *

"And then, it exploded!" Rithron flung his hands to the sky, mimicking the detonation they'd recently survived.

Maera sat on the dry grass, knees tucked under her chin and arms wrapped around her legs. She rocked a little, huddling down in her coat. Alderaanian winters were so cold, but the air was bracing and pure, not like the stale, recycled air on the _Drake, _so she didn't mind. She looked over the assembly; Rithron was recounting their latest exploits to the younger, wide-eyed children of the orphanage, this time an adventure about stealing data files for weapons designs from a military outpost. Rithron's retelling was much more heroic and glamorous than she remembered, but they'd successfully gotten the data. Echo was poring over it, excited.

Ctesius raised his hand and Rithron pointed at him. "Did you use lightsabers?"

Rithron deflated a little. "No. Lightsabers are for major emergencies only. We can't use them when someone might…" he hedged a little to the side, lips puckering into a frown, "when someone might see. They could tell the Imps. Then people might start looking for us. We just used blasters."

Another hand was raised, this time by Neaera. "Did you bring anyone else home?"

Maera turned her head so that her cheek was on her knee. All eyes were on Rithron, who hung his head in response. It was enough; there was a murmur of sadness throughout the seated group. Master Barriss arrived several months ago, but it'd been over a year, now, since there were any new children. Rithron added, softly, "It wasn't really that kind of mission, Nee." He looked to Maera for help, but Maera could only shrug and bury her face into her folded arms.

There was a silence, then the crunching of dry grass. She looked up enough to watch Rithron plop himself down beside her. He hesitated for a second, then slowly placed an arm around her shoulders. "It's six years for you, isn't it?"

She nodded once. There was a murmur through the group, and a general shift. The younger children moved together, surrounding the two eldest. Maera looked up again as a small body in a bulky sweater pressed itself up against her side. "Maera-_narra_," Neaera murmured, consolingly. _Maera-sister_. Maera mustered a small smile, leaned further into Rithron, and placed an arm around Neaera.

Other faces looked at her, huddling against each other, each with either an encouraging look or a sympathetically sad one. Every one of them experienced some variation of what she did; Neaera, born into poverty on Ryloth, was sold into slavery when she could barely walk. Olwen, like Rithron, lost both parents in frantic attempts to keep their children. Ctesius was found on a starliner, in transit to Coruscant. He claimed he didn't even remember his family, only a blur of faces. Thoosa had lived with her grandfather until he died and she was discovered; Temese with his father. The list went on: Adeona, Corus, Evander, Robur. Except for Roo-Roo - lucky Roo-Roo. Each of them breathed through the Force, their signatures varying wildly from Neaera's vibrant bounciness to Rithron's stubborn strength and Olwen's flinty coolness.

They surrounded her like an unbreakable wall.

This happened, several times a year, at least for those who remembered leaving their old lives, old families, behind. They gathered, and they mourned, and they propped each other up.

Rithron's hand, resting on her shoulder, squeezed.

She missed her Mom. But it was good to still have family.

* * *

This was one of the hardest chapters to write. Not in terms of plot, but in terms of content. I'm always pulling for a happy ending, and it's hard for me to kill off characters, even when they're my own.

I've always pitied Twi'lek women – they're always portrayed as sex objects, there simply to be pretty. I wanted to show a different aspect of things with Ata, and since introducing the children, I wanted to do a chapter on how at least one of them was found by Ahsoka and Company. I imagine Maera was one of the first children found after Roo-Roo.

And I finally got around to naming all twelve children! I pull a lot of names from various mythologies, and all names except for Roo-Roo (who is a canon character) have Greek, Roman or Welsh/Celtic names. Similarly, Ata's name, combined with her 'last' name, is Atalanta. Melanion and Memnon's names are also drawn from Greek mythology.

As always, many thanks to everyone who took the time to review! TheLightIsMine, BunBunFett, reulte, sachariah, outlaw hunter, KatiaSwift, Kaprikorn, laloga, Librarian Girl, doctor anthony, Clayto, DoubleEO, CCAdventures, almostinsane, and SilverWolf! You all rock!

~Queen


	10. Many Here Among Us

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Chapter 10. Many Here Among Us

* * *

It was the laughter that drew her.

The voices were not composed of the riotous laughter of children playing, but of the mellower, deeper tones of adults. There was warmth in the sound, welcome and filled with the steady flow of familiarity. The lights in the kitchen were dim, and Barriss lingered in their somewhat safer shadows, peering out around the arch that led into the dining area.

The rectangular table was filled with the adult members of the household. Lukewarm bottles of Corellian ale sat beside most of them, most nearly emptied from earlier drinking. Others opted for Alderaanian spice wine, the burnished burgundy hue of the liquid still visible in glass goblets. Snacks, too, were lying on the table, both savory and sweet, and a platter of Nura's ubiquitous sticky sesame cakes. Echo and Suisen were both selecting balls to add to their plates before passing the tray along for another round. Ahsoka was laughing as she said something to Rex, her arms stretched out as she scraped the chips from the sabacc pot closer to herself, adding to her already significant pile.

Though the kitchen was still heated from earlier cooking, the real warmth seemed to be in the dining room, so brightly lit against the nighttime sky lurking outside the windows.

Behri's bright voice called out, accompanied by a wicked smile, "Corellian Gambit, this round! Five cards each. Hope you're all ready."

The cards shuffled quickly between her fingers, then, one by one, were spun out towards each player.

* * *

She did not understand.

Intertribal warfare had torn this region of Mirial to shreds for decades. Now, though, in the face of years of hatred, the two clans were forced to work in tandem, to move their wounded into a single field hospital positioned between the two warring cities. To look to the east showed the silhouette of a metropolis gone dark, the ice-like spires that should have shone silver in the starlight were left blackened from energy shortage. To the west, an eerie phosphorescence could be seen, pale green and spectral, rising from secondary power generators deep within the second city. Lit from within, the damage could be more easily seen; the elegant towers that so recently stood tall were crumbled from the quake.

Barriss ran a hand over her eyes, feeling the strain of hours of work. She needed food, to keep up her own strength, and then she would return and set more broken bones, and try to stretch their dwindling supply of bacta as far as possible. The damage was extensive. The hospitals within the cities were badly damaged or destroyed. Communications were down. The cities, on the edge of the ocean, were hammered by tsunamis, flooding out roads and swamping others with flotsam and chemicals swept out of businesses, factories and homes. The secondary power generators only came online a few hours ago. Determining the full extent of the damage was given the highest priority, quickly followed by reestablishing power.

The tent city was the only source of clean water and food for kilometers in every direction, and reaching it was treacherous for most, walking on foot over damaged roads. Shanty towns were springing up around the hospital, though many were forced to sleep outside in the frozen desert steppe. Terrorized screams still sounded periodically, as aftershocks set the earth to trembling.

Aid was being flown in regularly, but with the slowly swelling numbers, aid alone was not enough. They flew through supplies, desperately trying to keep up with the increasing demand. Desperation was driving crime upward, hunger urging people to steal from those who had managed to find meals. More hands, more healers, more med droids, more medicine, along with cooks and food, machinery and police, would not reach them until the next day.

She had long wished to see Mirial, but this was not how she imagined it would be. Barriss and her new Master, Luminara Unduli, were already in the Outer Rim. They were directed to assist in relief efforts, and while Barriss tried to practice her growing skill as a healer, Master Unduli was trying to work with surviving leaders in reestablishing control of the region.

Local leaders were not happy. Two clans, centuries ago, laid claim to the same land, built their own cities, and warred with each other over the rights to the harbor, the sea, and the arable land, so hard come by on a planet of freezing deserts and tundra. War between the city-states broke out intermittently.

The surviving political leaders, even in the face of the devastation, were jockeying for favored positions.

And yet, there were scenes like the one unfolding before her.

Barriss paused in the alley of tents leading towards the food distribution area, hovering in the shadow of a lean-to filled with sleepers, watching.

She heard earlier from patients that rations were sharply limited, at least until another shipment of supplies arrived. The lucky ones who already received their food milled around, huddling over ration sticks and tins of water, lingering close to the large heated lamps, providing warmth and light. A young woman, perhaps only a few years older than herself, wandered aimlessly between tents, hovering, clearly unsure of where to go or what to do. Her pond green face was streaked with tears, mottled nearly purple in her distress. Bits of jewelry sparkled in her long black hair, caught in the gnarled strands. Her elegant purple robes were filthy, finely-made but torn. She had her arms wrapped around her belly, and she was wild-eyed, clutching her waist and slowly growing more panicked as she looked around, trying to decide what to do. Her breath clouded around her in the cold air. She staggered a little, wobbling. She pressed a hand over her mouth, and bright bangle bracelets jangled on her wrist.

She spun wildly as a young man touched her elbow. Dressed in simpler, poorer, but equally battered clothing, he spoke to her, too quietly for Barriss to hear at first, but the meaning of his gesture was clear. In one hand, he was holding a dried ration stick. He broke it in half, and extended it towards her.

She stared for a long time, looking at the food, then at him. Her hand, the delicate whorls of her tattoos starkly visible in the light of the overhead lamps, trembled as she hesitantly reached out to take it. Her fingers paused halfway there, and she looked at the man skeptically again. He pushed it towards her, and her hand clasped it. She stared at the food for several long seconds, then burst into tears, leaving the man confused, hovering. He touched her elbow again, and Barriss saw his lips move: "_Are you alright?_"

"But I am from Higashi!" she cried, clearly confused by his kindness. The man's expression sobered, and he lowered his eyes.

Amid the sounds of other people moving, weeping and crying out, Barriss could just barely hear his response. "Yes, and I am from Nishi. My parents are over there," he gestured towards a corner where two others were sitting, an older man and an older woman, their skin more golden than green, their faces and hands heavily lined with both age and faded black tattoos. "Sit with us. I have a little extra water."

The young woman looked confused, her green eyes made unnaturally bright from the tears within them. Then she looked at the man, and her expression changed from pain and confusion to what Barriss recognized as pure heroic adoration. Already filled with tears, her weeping changed from suffering to relief, and she wavered, her knees going out as the man quickly wrapped an arm around her waist. She turned in towards him, her shoulders shivering. They were surrounded in the mist of their own white breath.

He looked dismayed for a moment, as though unsure of what to do with the distraught woman in his arms, but managed to pull her upright and begin guiding her towards the older couple.

Barriss rested a hand on one of the ropes supporting the tent beside her, and watched the man help her settle herself on the ground, patting her back in an awkward attempt at consolation.

She straightened just as a familiar presence drew close; the calm, steady voice of her Master asked, "I sense you are troubled, my very young apprentice."

Luminara stepped up beside Barriss, clasping her hands behind her back and watching the scene that Barriss did, but with a calmer eye. Self-conscious, Barriss wiped her hands on the front of the bloodied smock covering her clothing, wishing she'd remembered to remove it before leaving the mobile hospital. The suffering was overwhelming, but she could not allow it to distract her. She needed her wits if she was to continue assisting more experienced healers. She rubbed her arms with her hands to generate warmth, before clasping her hands before her, trying to appear calm and more analytical of the scene that was now ending, the young man pressing a cup of water on the young woman while his parents looked at her skeptically.

"I am only confused, Master. I'm relieved that so many people are coming together to aid each other during the crisis, but others still only chase after their own ambitions." Barriss looked at Master Unduli, standing still and contemplative beside her. Master Unduli did not respond, and Barriss fidgeted, trying to determine what her new teacher expected from her. She continued, somewhat hurriedly, "They are from the different cities. I heard them say so, but I could tell through observation before. He has the yellower skin tone and tattoos predominantly on his neck, as do most of those from the western bank. She has the greener tone and forehead patterns, as well as the large bangle jewelry many of the eastern women seem to prefer, though not many of them have it now."

Barriss snuck a look again at Master Unduli, who had tilted her head down somewhat and seemed to be repressing a small, amused smile at Barriss' rambling. Barriss clamped her lips closed, and folded her hands before her, trying to give a more serene, detached appearance. Luminara said, gently, "Most sentients are social creatures. We organize ourselves into cultures and societies, tribes and clans and cities because living alone can be a very cold life. Even so, those tribes and clans draw lines around themselves, including some while excluding others. Massive tragedies force people to overcome some of the boundaries they establish for themselves. People need each other to survive."

The smile Master Unduli wore a few moments ago had faded, and she seemed slightly tired. Still, she stood straight and firm, her face cast into sharp contrast from a nearby lantern's stark white light. Barriss straightened a little, trying to mimic her stance while watching people moving between tents.

The little family and their guest were huddled close to one of the lanterns. The young Nishian man was now sitting beside the Higashian woman. She had her face buried in his shoulder. His parents' expressions had changed from skeptical to somewhat dismayed. The young man himself was alternating between stricken looks at his parents, and something rather awed and flustered toward the woman. It was almost something out of a holovid, and it was clear he was enjoying playing the hero, even if his parents were there to chaperone.

Barriss' brows drew together as she watched and thought more over Master Unduli's words. "But the Jedi Code dictates that Jedi remain detached from other people. Is that not a contradiction, if people need each other to survive?"

Master Unduli's small smile returned, and Barriss was warmed by it. Apparently she had asked a good question, or made a good observation. She waited patiently for her Master to explain. Instead, she found herself receiving a question. "Tell me, padawan, what is it that you know of the rule of detachment?"

Barriss tilted her head to the side and watched her Master for a moment. Luminara had one brow lifted, awaiting her answer, but patiently. Barriss cast her eyes downward for a moment as she thought. She knew only what she had been previously taught; she could cite no interpretation of her own, for she had little experience with such things. She thought back to her lessons in the Temple, and tried to recite what she had learned. "Jedi Master Hoche Trit is best known for his interpretation of the external loyalty clauses of the Code. He argued that a Jedi cannot divide her attention between two forces, or else invite disaster."

"Why would a division of attention be so disastrous? Surely a Jedi is capable of handling two different issues at the same time."

Barriss opened her mouth to reply, then closed it, unsure. A fully trained Jedi is capable of handling a great many problems at once. In fact, their jobs depended on it. Luminara spent her last day and a half managing bickering Mirialan politicians while strengthening the relief effort. It wasn't that a Jedi could not handle two problems at once, but perhaps could not handle two disparate loyalties? "A Jedi cannot have multiple loyalties, since they may come into conflict with each other. Such conflict may cause distress, which may in turn lead to sadness, anger or fear. Such things are the path to the Dark Side."

Master Unduli smiled and nodded, and Barriss beamed with the knowledge she had answered correctly. Luminara turned back towards the scene before them, a cluster new faces wandering down the aisles of tents, empty handed. She closed her eyes for a moment and bowed her head. It seemed the food had run out again, for the time being. Barriss sighed. She could wait until morning to eat again. A fresh shipment of food from the capitol was expected at daybreak, along with more medicine and more workers. Her stomach rumbled, and she looked at the quartet sitting nearby, the young Higashian woman now nibbling steadily on her ration, while the man held out a cup presumably filled with water.

"But what if the loyalties are shared?" Barriss burst out suddenly, looking at the two of them. A few days ago, they were on opposite sides of a lasting feud. Today, they shared warmth, light and food. "What if people bring their loyalties into alignment, and support each other, the way some of these people are doing?"

She colored at her outburst, flushing and looking down at her hands. She clasped them together tightly, to prevent herself from wringing them. A light hand descended onto her shoulder, and she saw that Master Unduli had closed the step between them. "What is the difference, between these people and Jedi, Barriss?"

Barriss blinked at her, looking quickly from Luminara's tea-green hand on her shoulder, then into her Master's brilliant blue eyes. They were warm, if tired. "Jedi are Force-sensitive," she replied. Luminara nodded, encouraging her to continue. "We are of many different species?" she continued uncertainly. Master Unduli chuckled once, then looked out across the tents.

"Yes, Jedi are Force-sensitive. We do not seek to lord our abilities over those who do not have the skills we do, but we do have them, and it separates us in a way species, clan and tribe cannot. We have power, and we must use it responsibly. Think of it this way. If we did not come to help these people, to insist that the surviving leaders work together in the aftermath of the quake, what do you think these people would do?"

"Listen to the representatives from the capitol?" Barriss offered, but knew it was unlikely. The man sent to direct the relief effort meant well, but he was a practical man, not a politician, and he certainly did not have the…the _gravitas_…Master Unduli carried, and with it, the ability to make people see reason. She sighed. "Likely they would bicker and fight over the aid, and it would make the situation worse."

"Imagine if the Jedi clung to sides in such a way, to people or to goods in such a way, and decided to fight over it? You know of the Sith, who seek out power and status. Our detachment gives us objectivity and serenity. Emotions and passion are intrinsic to our nature as sentients. Even so, we must learn to accept those emotions as they are, to face them and then to let them pass, rather than allow them to consume us. Such things lead only to suffering." Master Unduli smiled gently at her and let her hand fall away from Barriss' shoulder. She folded her hands neatly before her, one on top of the other, her posture tall and straight.

Barriss hung her head a little, feeling unsure. She longed to have the quiet composure of the Masters, but knew it was many years away in her training. She looked at the couple, sitting with the young man's parents near the lantern. He was a very handsome young man, and the diamond patterns on his neck appeared appealingly soft. Her cheeks warmed, at the thought of sitting by such a man, in the way the Higashian woman was now, cold breath mingling with cold breath. It was not the first time such thoughts had strayed through her head, but she always scolded herself for it and reminded herself it was normal for a thirteen year old to be curious about the opposite sex, that there were medical reasons driving such curiosities, such as fluctuating hormone levels. Still, it was hard to set aside such feelings. She returned her gaze to the ground, glumly. "It seems very difficult, Master."

Luminara chuckled. "We all struggle with attachment, Barriss. You are not alone."

"All?" Barriss repeated, a little wide-eyed. Was Master Luminara suggesting that _she_ struggled with such things?

The laughter faded from Luminara's eyes a little and she turned away. She said, softly, "Yes. All."

Barriss thought about that for awhile, trying to accept that far wiser and older Jedi than she may have similar thoughts and troubles. Master Unduli interrupted her musings after a moment, continuing. "There will, someday, come a time when you must confront attachment. Consider your choices carefully, Barriss, and remember what being a Jedi means. Choose the course of your life wisely. As for today, though, you have done very well, padawan."

Barriss nodded, blushing at the praise, but also at the thought of future attachments she may have to struggle against. The Jedi were her life; she loved what she did, and wanted nothing more than to grow up to be like Master Unduli, to excel in the healing arts, and perhaps someday have a padawan of her own to teach.

"I shall always be a Jedi, Master," Barriss told her firmly, and with her declaration, felt a certain peace.

She had long since chosen the course of her life.

* * *

Behri's bright voice called out, accompanied by a wicked smile, "Corellian Gambit, this round! Five cards each. Hope you're all ready."

The cards shuffled quickly between her fingers, then, one by one, were spun out towards each player.

There were peaks and valleys of _happiness_ and _irritation_ from each player as they received their cards. Some faces flickered with those emotions before the players schooled themselves to seriousness, not wishing to give away the quality of their hands. From her vantage point, Barriss could not see each expression, since some had their backs to her, and all held their cards close to their chests, not wishing anyone to see, even an observer with no stake in the game, watching unobtrusively from the sidelines.

Chips were tossed into piles, one a fresh hand pot for the winner of the round, the other a growing sabacc pot for anyone lucky enough to find themselves with a pure sabacc, a perfect value of twenty-three, positive or negative. She didn't know how many rounds had passed, but judging by the hill of chips next to Ahsoka, they'd been playing for at least an hour. Her indigo eyes flicked from person to person. Ahsoka seemed to have the advantage. Rex was not doing poorly, but it seemed that Echo and Suisen were making a cooperative attempt to topple Ahsoka's dominance in the game. Their stacks of chips were nearing the size of hers. Behri was dealing. Waxer and Nura were nearly bankrupt of chips, and seemed to be using wrapped candies to supplement their dwindling piles. Fives was down to candy alone. Barriss suppressed a laugh, watching him scratch the back of his neck for the third time since receiving his cards. He wasn't pleased with the suit he held.

More chips were tossed. Waxer sighed heavily, put down his cards and unwrapped one of the candies, popping it into his mouth. Nura confidently tossed in another chip.

Jedi, soldiers, civilians. Human, Togruta, Gungan, from Kamino, Shili, Naboo, Ghorman, Alderaan. Such a mix of faces, species, races, backgrounds, all sitting and laughing around the same table. It was not quite the way the Jedi Temple looked, but the variety was there. The difference was that one of them was a Jedi, while the others were not. Ahsoka had integrated herself with them fully, attracted them to her, bound them all together. Nura watched as the swamplands she called home were set on fire, Imperials tearing them apart to find her daughter. And then there was Behri, smiling and laughing, an elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, who suffered at the hands of the Empire, who watched stormtroopers beat her people down, and yet sat beside them, married one of them, had a child with one of them.

Out of so many disparate backgrounds and lives and cultures, came one unit. One group bearing a torch to ward off the Dark, driving it back. They were not the Jedi Order, nor were they even all Jedi, and yet, they worked to create the peace, to defend it.

When she arrived in this place, the younglings asked if she were a Jedi. She'd answered yes.

For seven years, she'd been powerless, left alone. It did not need to be so, anymore. She was tired of being helpless.

There was a clink of more chips being added to the ante, and a couple of groans from Nura and Suisen. Rex chuckled, leaning back in his chair after tossing in his own wager. Ahsoka was the last, placing in more chips. Fives snorted and leaned forward, pressing his cards against his shoulder with one hand, while waggling a finger at Ahsoka. "_You_ are _cheating_!"

Barriss blinked in surprise, that he'd make such an allegation. The response from the others, though, was laughter, and Barriss wondered if this was, perhaps, not an unusual event. Ahsoka was pressing her cards dramatically to her chest, batting her eyelashes while she held a hand up to her open mouth in mock offense. Barriss snickered, feeling Ahsoka's deep _amusement_ over the whole situation. Ahsoka made a small, cutely shocked sound.

There were giggles, and Suisen had a hand over her eyes, seeming to think the entire episode completely ridiculous. Rex sat back up and gave Fives an exaggerated warning look, while wrapping a solicitous arm around Ahsoka, who was still pretending to be terribly dismayed over the cheating accusation. He then proceeded to burst out laughing.

Echo laughed, leaning forward and commenting dryly, "Just because you always lose doesn't mean anyone else is cheating."

Fives laughed as well, fanning himself with his cards and quirking an eyebrow while he replied, "Of course you'd say that - if you're cheating." He pointed at Echo's own fairly significant pile of chips.

"You have a tell," Suisen informed him, leaning against Echo with a smile, slipping an arm around his waist. Then she looked at Fives, critically, her attention sweeping from the top of his head to where his body disappeared beneath the edge of the table. She tilted her head and added, with amusement, "Several, actually."

Behri broke into laughter, and Fives made a wounded face. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be on _my_ side of this?"

Behri widened her eyes and mimicked Ahsoka's innocent look. "Oh, but I'm the dealer, darling. I'm supposed to be impartial!" The last few words came out more as a giggle than an overly serious statement, and she curled up against Fives, kissing his cheek while he rolled his eyes.

"No one is cheating."

The words cut abruptly into the group's laughter, and Barriss breathed in deeply as their attention swung to her, their smiles fading into uncertainty. Barriss shifted uncomfortably, wishing she'd kept her mouth shut. She wasn't a part of their game; she didn't really belong to their group. "No one is cheating," she repeated. "Through the Force, or otherwise." She looked at Ahsoka, whose face was now strangely inscrutable. "No one was cheating."

"Would you like to join us?" Ahsoka asked, her face growing softer, even hopeful. Barriss hesitated, wanting to enter the circle, and yet still hesitant.

Would she like to join them?

"Cody's mentioned you were quite the card player, on Nar Shaddaa," Rex added, trying to strengthen Ahsoka's invitation. He made a gesture at a gap in the seating beside him, and Barriss leaned forward, away from the wall, enough to see that there was a stool sitting there.

Her eyes swept over the group. She'd not been invited, initially, likely because they assumed she would decline. All the other adults were there. Except Cody. They'd set out a seat for Cody, even in his absence.

Even without being present, he was part of the group. Even being present, she was not. Her hands made fists.

Would she like to join them?

She shook her head, embarrassed. "I'm only good when I cheat. Thank you, though."

Ahsoka's face fell a little. Rex's remained steady. He moved his hand back onto the table, setting his forearm along the edge. Suisen's eyes, locked on her until now, lowered, and she gave a small sigh.

Penitence. Forgiveness. _Resilience_. Barriss took a small, hesitant step forward. "Next time," she said, and put as much conviction into the words as she could. "I will join you next time."

The room was quiet for a moment, until the silence was broken by a quiet shifting. Small smiles began to form, directed at her. She could feel a burgeoning warmth and welcome, and slowly, she found herself beginning to smile in return. She blinked hard several times, for some reason feeling tears starting to well in her eyes. "Would anyone like tea?" she asked quickly, to distract herself, chuckling lightly as Ahsoka and Suisen's heads lifted, their interest piqued. Nura merely laughed, and the men all groaned.

"Mind making a fresh pot of caf?" Waxer asked, looking up at her from where he sat. She gave him a startled look. He lifted his brows. "Know how to use the caf maker?"

"I think so," she replied, holding his gaze for several long seconds until a flicker of a smile began to appear on Waxer's face as well.

"Tea and caf," she said, stepping back into the kitchen. "Tea and caf and Fives is bad at cards."

There was a series of snickers at the final statement, and when Fives looked offended at their amusement, there was more laughter, including Barriss's. She stepped back into the kitchen, listening as they began their game again.

Things were not as they always were, but perhaps there was still a place to belong.

* * *

Wow this was a hard chapter to write for some reason. The scene on Mirial did _not_ want to work with me at _all_. I think I rewrote the context about three times before I was happy with it. There is almost no information on Mirial in the Wookieepedia, and it was hard getting enough background in to feel 'realistic' but without overwhelming the scene with superfluous information. I really hope I pulled that scene off. Gah.

I did like the opportunity to write Luminara, though. Hope that went okay. As for Barriss's age, I chose thirteen for her becoming a padawan; there didn't seem to be any official age for her, and it seemed young enough to need a Master, but also old enough to deal with the rigors of Jedi life.

Also, a great big thank you to all who have reviewed! Queen Ceilidh, laloga, sachariah, LongLivetheClones, Mastermind, Clayto, outlaw hunter, SilverWolf, TheLightIsMine, KatiaSwift, almostinsane, DoubleEO, Sarge, doctor anthony, Emshadow, BleachBoy and Endymion Blue! Thank you all so much for your kind words and thoughts! The last chapter was a tough one, I know. Believe it or not, we're building towards the conclusion from this point out, so things get a bit more upbeat as problems begin to resolve themselves...

As always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter,

~Queen


	11. In Action How Like an Angel

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Chapter 11. In Action, How Like an Angel

* * *

Once a year, she came to Aldera to meet with Bail Organa.

Ahsoka stood quietly within the palace, her hands clasped behind her back as she waited on a balcony near Organa's study. At such a height, she could see past the winter greenery decking out the royal gardens to the outer metropolis of Aldera, the white city glowing cool against the fiery colors of the sunset. She smiled at the sight of the sun sinking into the mountains beyond the city; she was facing the wrong way to look towards home, but the snow capped peaks were a reassuring sight, nonetheless.

She came during Bail's regular business hours, towards the end of the day when he took care of less pressing matters than those that demanded his attention in the morning. She dressed in the well made, elegant clothes of a prosperous merchant, modest in cut but sumptuous in fabric, marking her a businesswoman of moderately wealthy status. Her coming late in the day signaled that she was important enough for a man of Organa's power to make time for her, but not so important he would usher her in over politicos, investors and power brokers of mightier standing.

In other words, she was someone easily forgotten. With their minds on other matters, anyone who did bother to look the way of the quiet Togruta thought nothing of the swift arrival of disinterest in her. It was hard to look at her for some reason; their attention was always better warranted elsewhere. She also seemed disinclined to talk to anyone, just a pretentious merchant hob-nobbing above herself. She was lucky to be in the palace at all, really.

There was shuffling from further down the hallway, and Ahsoka left the balcony to return to the waiting area outside of Bail's study. A group of humans were leaving his office, while a group of anxious Rodians were doing their best not to rush towards the door. Other than Ahsoka, they were the last remaining group outside the elegantly carved doors of the study.

Bail himself appeared at the door, smiling and shaking hands with the human delegation while he ushered them out. The Rodians began to hover, moving forward as quickly as decorum allowed, exchanging pleasantries with the human group while each gaggle of people tried to disguise the disdain they had for each other. Ahsoka repressed a smile. Poor Bail, dealing with bickering groups. He caught notice of her and inclined his head in her direction while the humans and Rodians exchanged veiled barbs of greeting. Ahsoka smiled, arching a brow and flicking her eyes towards the group. It sounded like there was a trade dispute of some kind.

After seeing her look of droll amusement, Bail was unable to stop a chuckle, which he easily turned into a warm greeting to the Rodians. The beckoned them inside, ignoring Ahsoka, who did not envy him his political duties in the least. The study doors closed; the humans huffed with indignation over the welcome the Rodians received before stalking off down the hallway towards the exit, a pair of palace guards unobtrusively slipping into place behind them to escort them out.

Their footfalls grew quiet, though she could hear muffled talking through the doors to the study. A pair of guards stood nearby, backs straight and spines stiff at attention. Ahsoka smiled at them pleasantly, nodding to them in acknowledgement though they remained at attention and ignored her.

She sighed, looking at the study, wondering exactly what time it was. It was winter, and the nights came early. Before she could begin considering waiting on the balcony again, she spied out a small figure just down the lobby, peering around one of the marble pillars. A long braid of brown swung over her shoulder, dangling in the air. The little girl's eyes were fixed on the door to the study, and she was biting her lip.

Ahsoka's breath caught for a moment. It'd been a few years since she'd last seen Leia. Changes in children so young were distinct. Leia was taller, a bit more gangly as a seven year old, though she hadn't yet gained any adolescent awkwardness. She had both hands on the pillar, and was scrunching her lips into a determined pucker. Ahsoka smiled, recognizing the look of a child who wanted to know what the adults were doing, but was kept from it.

Walking over forced Leia's attention away from the door and on to Ahsoka. The determined look turned into an irritated one. Whatever she'd been planning was interrupted by Ahsoka's presence. She drew back a little, closer to the pillar.

"Doors alone aren't very interesting, are they?" Ahsoka asked with a smile. Leia looked up at her skeptically. Ahsoka waited for a response.

Leia sighed and straightened herself up, obviously annoyed at being stuck talking to an adult. "No," she admitted.

"I doubt what's going on inside is very interesting either."

"How do you know?" Leia asked sourly, then started, looking a little embarrassed. "I mean, not to be rude, but, well, how do you know it's not? It could be."

Ahsoka shrugged. "Peaceful negotiations are usually kind of dull, in my opinion, but I guess not everyone thinks so."

Leia wrinkled her nose and looked at her. "_Peaceful_ negotiations? What other kind are there?"

Ahsoka laughed. Telling Leia aggressive negotiation was more interesting than peaceful negotiation probably would not sit well with Bail. Besides, aggressive negotiation wasn't really negotiation at all. She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, there's lots of kinds. You'd be surprised."

Leia made a harrumphing noise and leaned against the pillar, scowling. "Nobody tells me anything." She gave Ahsoka a critical look, focusing on her face.

"Do you remember me, little princess?"

Leia continued her observation of Ahsoka's face, blankly for several seconds, before a sudden spark was kindled in her eyes. "Dad's birthday," she said, brightening momentarily before frowning thoughtfully. "Lady Asha?"

Ahsoka nodded. "Close. Ashla Ebino."

"You're not in the palace very often."

"I don't need to be."

Leia shrugged and leaned against the pillar again, rocking back and forth while standing in place. She kept her gaze on the carved doors leading to the study. "Dad never lets me in when he's having meetings," Leia admitted glumly, sighing. Ahsoka lifted a brow and looked between the doors and the girl.

She had Padme's brown hair and brown eyes. Ahsoka's eyes closed halfway, remembering. The vision she'd received when Leia was first born and she'd held her in her arms that day on Polis Massa had contained an image of a woman in white with well coiled hair, standing tall on a pavilion. She saw that image again on Yavin IV, during what was otherwise a routine reconnaissance mission. Well, routine except for Rex, anyway. The audience chamber held the vision of a Princess triumphant, of an assembly of soldiers, of a set of heroes.

Leia was like her mother. They were building a rebellion. Leia was meant to be a part of the Empire's downfall someday. At seven, she was too young to have any impact, but like the Jedi younglings at the orphanage, she needed training and preparation. Leia was dressed nicely, in a pretty blue dress, though she did not have the carriage of royalty. At least, not at the moment. The superficial mannerisms of a child princess were less important than the skills she needed to develop. If Leia was old enough to be curious about what Bail did for work, then she was old enough to begin learning how to lead. She had her mother's mind. She needed to be ready to lead a rebellion that would one day reach maturity.

"Does your father not let you in on his meetings?" Ahsoka asked as politely as she could, keeping her voice innocent. Leia gave her an odd look, and she felt a flicker of _suspicion_ course through the girl.

"He says I'm too young."

"Hmm," Ahsoka said, nodding thoughtfully. She could speak to Bail herself, press the importance of training Leia early, but it would be more powerful if the argument came from Leia, if she was up to the task. "So you've asked him and he's said no?"

"Yes."

Ahsoka folded her arms and hummed again, trying to imitate Obi-Wan's best "serious thoughts" face. She put her fist under her chin, as though she was thinking very hard. "Well, you are very young for such things at seven," Ahsoka admitted, doing her best to sound skeptical, but she couldn't keep the amusement out of her voice. Leia's suspicion was changing into something a little more hopeful, picking up on Ahsoka's playfulness. Leia straightened and pushed herself off the pillar, looking up at Ahsoka and waiting for advice. "Though I suppose if a planet were to have a powerful queen at the age of fourteen, she'd have to start learning about politics, law and governance very young. Maybe as young as seven?"

As Ahsoka hoped, Leia perked up. "What planet?"

"A very small one in the Mid Rim called Naboo. There was a very great battle there, oh, not quite twenty years ago now, I think. The queen's name was Amidala, if I remember correctly."

Leia's head bent, and her lips moved a few times. Ahsoka could make out the shapes of "_Naboo. Amidala. Naboo_."

Bail would suspect Leia got the names from her; she didn't know how much galactic history Leia had yet been taught, but the names of Naboo and Amidala coming from his adopted daughter, so soon after a visit from Ahsoka, would make him suspicious. Leia was smiling now, a little wickedly. There was already a plot growing in her mind, and Ahsoka hoped it would work. She nudged Leia a little further. "You might want to do a little research on Queen Amidala and the Naboo, to make your argument stronger. Their culture is very similar to Alderaan's, in some ways."

With a grin, Leia nodded. "Thank you, Lady Ashla."

Ahsoka bowed, her montrals dipping low, graceful. She disguised a look of sadness with a polite smile. The last time they met, Leia was trying to subconsciously read her in the Force. That was not happening now. Leia was bright, but behaving the way an intelligent non-Force-sensitive child would. Perhaps it was only the situation; Force sensitivity did not simply go away, it merely became dormant through ignorance. Still, it was hard. For a moment, she wanted to grab Leia and run with her back to the orphanage, press one of the wooden training blades into her small hands and teach her the first movements of Shii-Cho and Shien. Political acumen may not be enough.

Then there was a flutter. It was faint, but it was there, a small brushing of one concerned mind against another. She looked up to find Leia watching her with a worried look. "Are you well, Lady Ashla?"

Ahsoka bent her head and smiled, this time with relief. "Yes, very much so, thank you, Princess."

Leia brightened again, and stepped forward, taking Ahsoka's hand in the trusting way Neaera would sometimes. They were close in age, Neaera probably only a few months older. Leia's pale fingers curled around her larger orange ones, content and trusting, so much like they had when she was a baby on Polis Massa. This time, Ahsoka squeezed back, sending a ripple of _reassurance_ towards the girl. "Trust your feelings, Leia," Ahsoka told her with sudden vehemence. "You will be a very great leader someday. I know this to be true."

Her eyes grew wide, surprised, but then became solemn. She nodded once.

The sound of raised voices in the study drew their attention away, and Leia's fingers slipped out of hers. Ahsoka sighed, straightening herself. "Lady Ashla, may I listen to your meeting with father?"

Her face was still serious. It was not determined begging, but rather a mature solemnity. Ahsoka closed her eyes and shook her head. "Nothing would make me happier than to have you in my meeting with your father, Leia, but it's not yet time for that." She placed a hand on her head and smiled. "Someday, though, I promise I'll tell you all about the exciting world of shipping delicate imports and exports."

For a moment, Leia was _skeptical, disappointed_, but she soon relented with a sigh. "Naboo. Amidala," she said, then, with resignation added, "I need to go study, then."

Ahsoka chuckled. She looked just like most of the younglings at home, slumped over with the great and heavy burden of homework. "I'm sure you'll learn a great deal."

Leia summoned a small smile and nodded, a little shyly. The voices at the door lifted again, this time without peaking and going quiet. The doors shuddered and then opened, revealing the Rodian delegation with Bail at its' back. Leia straightened automatically, her chin rising and her shoulders going back, her demeanor shifting into something more regal in the presence of her father.

She watched as a set of guards filed in from the hallway and took up positions to lead out the Rodians. Once they'd moved far enough aside, Bail looked for her, and found her standing beside his daughter. He stiffened slightly with surprise, but he smiled with welcome all the same. His attention turned to Leia for a moment. "I hope you've been making our guest feel welcome, Leia," he told her.

Leia made a small curtsy, more in Ahsoka's direction than Bail's. "I have," she replied, with such a gleam in her eyes that Bail's brows rose, and he looked to Ahsoka, who gave a small shrug and grin in response. "It was nice to see you, Lady Ashla," she added before bowing back a few steps. "Bye, father."

Leia turned and hurried down the hallway, her braid bouncing behind her. Ahsoka went to stand with Bail and watch her retreat. He tilted his head to the side and asked, "Do I want to know what that was all about?"

"I think you'll figure it out in a few days," Ahsoka replied with a light laugh. "I gave her some homework."

His voice dropped very low, so that the guards would not hear him murmur, "Ever the Master."

"I can only so hope," she returned, just as quietly. She nodded once, towards the study. He turned to the side and motioned for her to enter.

He closed the door behind them, and their discussion began.

* * *

She slipped the pajama top over her shoulders and pushed her lekku out of the way, so that she could button up the shirt.

As she slid the bottoms on, she caught a glimpse of Rex, sitting on his bed and leaning against the post that led up to the upper bunk. He had his arms folded over his chest and a small smile on his face. His eyes were tracing her figure, as she dressed for bed. Ahsoka laughed, reached down onto the bed and picked up the pajama pants beside him, chucking them at his head. "I haven't gotten anything new since the last time you saw me half-naked."

He caught the pajamas before they landed on his head and chuckled. "Just appreciating."

Ahsoka rolled her eyes but grinned, reaching down to pick up the vest of her Ashla Ebino costume. The meeting with Bail yesterday had gone well, and she'd stayed in Aldera overnight. The long trip back home took her most of the day, and she was tired. She suppressed a yawn as she folded the velvet vest, running her hands over the soft material as she folded it neatly. She smiled a little at the wine colored clothing, the pretty golden buttons that fastened it. It was a pretty outfit, even if she didn't like wearing it too often; fancy dresses that didn't allow her to hide her lightsaber were impractical, even if she was going somewhere safe. It was good, too, to wash her face and see herself instead of Ashla. The white face paint got itchy after awhile.

The shifting of cloth distracted her a moment, while Rex began changing into his own sleeping clothes. He tugged his shirt off over his head, and she smiled at bit with her own appreciation of the shifting muscles of his back. She watched his shoulder-blades shift and his spine curve with each movement. Even such simple motions were sexy, perhaps even more so because of their ordinariness – just a man changing clothes. He pulled his new shirt back over his head and she returned her attention to her costume.

"Now who's staring?" Rex asked, amused, having noticed her observation.

Ahsoka arched a white brow and grinned. "Just appreciating," she returned lightly as he continued switching to pajamas, pulling off his pants. She set the vest down into its' open box and picked up the silky shirt that went beneath it, its' long, slashed sleeves flopping around while she tried to get them to fold neatly.

When Rex spoke again, his tone was more serious. "How did the meeting go?" he turned and pulled a hanger out of the closet and began to put away his daytime clothes.

Ahsoka sighed as she got the shirt folded and pushed it down into the box with the vest and the skirt. Kneeling, she closed the lid and pushed it under the bed for the next time she would need it. "Well. But then the meetings themselves are usually good. It's the content that's more disturbing."

She moved upward and sat on the edge of the bed, eying the door. The room was still mostly Waxer's, and with it growing late, he'd be coming in to sleep anytime. Echo was at Suisen's now, more nights than not, and Fives and Behri had taken over the room she and Rex used to use when they were at home. Her lekku twitched and she pulled one up into her lap, fiddling with the end of it. "Bail's set up off-planet accounts for our finances. He's been working to lay out a foundation to pay for everything a rebellion will eventually need, assuming it comes to armed revolt, which it will." She sighed, letting her lekku fall back into her lap as she slumped a bit. Rex sank down onto the bed beside her and nodded, placing his elbows on his knees while Ahsoka propped her head on his shoulder, idly running her hand over her eyes and rubbing at them tiredly.

"The main thing for us, though, is that we'll eventually have independent financing for the _Drake_, and the younglings, as well as the ability to expand and work without worrying about going beyond our stipend. Budgeting on our own isn't going to be fun, but at least we won't have to worry Bail about it anymore."

Rex nodded in understanding. "Expansion means we can start moving larger weapons. Blaster pistols and rifles are great, but we're going to need to start transporting heavier tech. Cannons and shield generators, preferably. We can start caching some of them in the potential base systems we scouted out a few years ago. Get them ready for operation. We'll need to talk to Esus again, see if he's able to deal in more than grenades, timers and blasters."

Ahsoka placed a hand lightly on his back, between his shoulders and trailed her fingers along the curve of his spine. "Medical might be a good place to begin building up as well. Bacta tanks to begin with, then scanners, and communication relays with coding the Empire can't crack. No use having smaller ships and ground assault weapons if there's no place to store them or operate them from."

"Others will have more ideas too," Rex agreed, running a hand thoughtfully over his scalp before dropping it on top of Ahsoka's, his fingers closing comfortably around hers. "We'll need to get some updates from Cody, see what his sources in Corellia and Chandrila say."

"We'll brief the others tomorrow morning and head out the day after. I'll give a fuller report as well. I saw Leia."

At that, Rex turned his head to meet her eyes. "How is she?"

Ahsoka smiled. "She's got her mother's head on her shoulders. She's already trying to get Bail to let her in to meetings. I caught her snooping around outside his study. He's probably not going to be thrilled I suggested she research the Naboo and her mother."

"You told her?" Rex asked, disbelievingly.

Ahsoka shook her head. "Not that. Just that the Naboo elect rulers as young as fourteen to lead them, and have to start training early. I understand his wanting to keep her out of politics, but she's got to learn. She's of an age with Neaera and Ctesius, and they've been doing early Jedi training for years now. I'm sure Leia's been taught history, but she needs to move into law and governance if she hasn't already. The future's going to be hard on her."

Rex made a low sound of agreement just as there was a knock on the door. Their heads lifted, both expecting Waxer to come in a moment later, but the knock was merely repeated. Ahsoka stood and reached out with the Force, to find a presence that was not Waxer waiting in the hallway. "Barriss?"

She went to the door and opened it, Barriss stepping inside after her looking vaguely uncomfortable at invading their room. Otherwise, though, there was a _certainty_ to her that Ahsoka hadn't seen for some time. She closed the door. She'd begun to sense it a few days ago, during the sabacc game, but it was stronger now. Barriss had come to some sort of decision, and Ahsoka waited to hear what it was.

"How did the meeting go?" Barriss began, looking first at Ahsoka and then at Rex, keeping the conversation between all three of them. Rex sat up straighter, hands coming to rest on his knees.

"Well enough," Ahsoka replied. "I'll give a briefing tomorrow morning. I was just telling Rex we'll be getting some more funding." She waited, hoping this meant the pleasantries were over. Barriss was a swirl of _apprehension_ moving around a core of _certainty_, her lips compressed into a fine line. At the continued silence, she pressed, "Is there something you need?"

"Yes. I'd like to join you."

Ahsoka shifted a little, casting a glance at Rex, whose eyebrows rose. They both turned their attention back to Barriss, who straightened and lifted her chin.

"I'd like to join you, when you leave again. I'm glad to have had time here, to rest, but I don't want to remain here forever. I think it's time I began moving forward again. I'd like to help you when you leave."

She was nervous about the decision, Ahsoka realized, but firm. Ahsoka smiled, warming at the thought. Alone for so many years, Barriss needed time to recover, to adapt. She couldn't spend all of her time at home with Barriss, helping her move into a life where she did not constantly need to be afraid. Her visits home were little more than glimpses into Barriss' state of mind, and from what she had heard from Waxer and Fives, she struggled to adjust.

Several weeks ago, when they'd left with Waxer, Echo and Fives in tow, she'd been unwilling to join them, a stab of cold _fear_ consuming any interest. But where last time there was that icy core of fear, there was now something else, something eroding it, the way sunlight melted snow. The Barriss that stood before her now felt far more like the memories Ahsoka held of her. _Quiet, reserved, determined_ and _capable_, though all was now scarred with the trauma of the purges. It felt like she was emerging out the other side of a very dark tunnel, though some shadows still clung.

The two women faced each other squarely, Barriss with her determination and Ahsoka with her broadening smile. Another Jedi. That would make three Jedi that she knew of still active in the galaxy, at least if she counted Ventress, who was still an entity unto herself. Masters Kenobi and Yoda were still in seclusion, still waiting for their turn in the tale of the Empire's fall.

Ahsoka stepped forward and embraced Barriss, squeezing her the way she did on Nar Shaddaa before pushing herself back and appraising Barriss again. She beamed, seeing a wash of relief fill Barriss' eyes. "You are most welcome." She hugged her again, this time feeling Barriss laugh a little in response.

Barriss was smiling when Ahsoka stepped back again, but she was also turning her attention to Rex, still sitting on the edge of the lower bunk bed and watching. Barriss straightened, grew somber, composing herself again. He stood and stepped forward, then extended a hand.

Barriss breathed out heavily, braced herself, then clasped it firmly in her own. "It will be good to have you with us, General Offee."

"I haven't been a General in a very long time," she said, paused, then added, simply, "Rex."

He released her hand and placed his on his hips, while she folded hers neatly in front of her. Rex smiled a bit. "Barriss, then."

Barriss nodded once, first at Rex, and then Ahsoka. Her smile now was fragile, and Ahsoka felt some of her _strength_ beginning to ebb. It was taking effort for her to come here, to take up arms again, to really, truly become a Jedi again. She was a Knight, and a peacekeeper, and now a rebel too. "If you'll excuse me," Barriss said, making a small, almost subconscious curtsy to dismiss herself.

Ahsoka and Rex both stepped back slightly, looking towards the door. Barriss smiled brighter, a little relieved that she had made it through. "Thank you," she said, and turned towards the door. She walked calmly, her back straight, her head high. Ahsoka smiled, feeling the trail of _relief, happiness_, and burgeoning _confidence_ she left in her wake.

"Good night, Barriss," Ahsoka said, and Barriss paused with her hand on the doorknob. She continued to smile and bowed her head again in thanks before closing the door behind her.

* * *

Anyone who can tell me where the chapter title comes from gets an internet cookie! Double points if you can identify where the additional line: "_And what he might say with irony, I say with conviction_" comes from. "_I see us one day becoming that..._"

As always, many thanks to all who have taken the time to review! Sarge1995, Librarian Girl, doctor anthony, Kaprikorn, DoubleEO, laloga, sachariah, Clayto, Queen Ceilidh, Endymion Blue, LongLivetheClones, outlaw hunter, BleachBoy, ThoseWereTheDays, almostinsane, Elven-Spear, CCAdventures, Emshadow and littlelionluvr! You guys rock!

~Queen


	12. A Winter of Discontent

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

"_These are tough times. A man can get a job. He might not look too close at what that job is. _

_But a man learns all the details of a situation like ours... well... then he has a choice.__"_

_-from "The Train Job" - Firefly_

* * *

Chapter 12. A Winter of Discontent

* * *

Pantora's peace was an illusion.

Subsumed into the Empire upon the fall of the Republic, Pantora tried to weather the storm of change, to quietly continue its existence without interruption. Its leaders posed no challenge, its people made no threat. Though there was little enough welcome, neither outrage nor defiance was shown. Like many, the people of Pantora were tired of war, and were relieved to see the bloody Clone Wars come to an end. That attempt to soldier on had long since faltered and failed, as it had on so many worlds. Once widely affluent during the days of the Republic, Pantora now suffered under the control of the governor appointed to the Sujimis Sector, with each Chairman of their Assembly burdened more and more heavily under the yoke of the Empire. The loss of power and prestige chafed against them, and everywhere there were whispers of discontent.

The governor merely tightened his control at the whispers; there was no rebellion, though there was no friendliness. They were quiet little aliens, living on their frosty little moon, wealthy and spoiled from their prosperity during the days of the Republic. He paid no attention to the grumblings. Ignored the ripples of anger that began to build when Senator Chuchi died under mysterious circumstances, a death too many believed was no accident. The forced retirement of Chairman Papanoida for a more docile leader brought only a deepening of the Pantorans' suspicion, a resentment of the Empire and the leaders it foisted upon them.

Cody sipped his hot caf and tried to hide his smile behind the curve of his cup; Pantora had never been weak. As a people, they did not lash out wildly. They bided their time, and collected information. The intelligence network Papanoida had built for himself long ago was fragmented, but not eliminated. Those based on Pantora itself watched, and waited, and spun a web of spies, casting them out across first the Sujimis Sector, then further into nearby systems in the Outer Rim. With Papanoida himself secreted away from the rest of the world by a cadre of Imperials, there was no clear head to the resistance. Information gathered was left to be collected by whoever could pay for it.

Pantora was becoming a place to barter and trade information. Despite Imperial restrictions on trade in the area, Pantoran ports remained open, and drifters, mercenaries, travelers, spacers and bounty hunters flowed through.

He set his caf down, picked up a fork and began to stir the meal in front of him. The dive was a complete hole in the wall, a run-down café in a not-so-pleasant part of the capitol, all bare walls and mismatched chairs. Cody hadn't understood its' popularity until he tried the food.

Breakfast was brought out to him in a steaming skillet, a raw nuna egg shining on top of a mound of sprouts, bean curd and minced nerf, with some kind of vibrant green vegetable leaves wilted throughout. All lay on a bed of gingery, spiced rice. The egg cooked into the piping food as he stirred, and he breathed in the piquant smell of it, feeling it flood his sinuses. His mouth watered, and he scooped up a forkful, closing his mouth around the rice and nerf and egg, enjoying the stinging on his tongue and the back of his throat. His eyes watered a little, but he grinned. He wasn't entirely sure what the spice was, but mixed in with everything else, it was deliciously bracing.

The caf was excellent too, served in a plain, unassuming ceramic mug. He rolled a mouthful of the thickened liquid around his tongue, trying to determine what was in it. Something sweet and rich, as well as quite minty. He suspected the sweet, rich flavor was from the thick, almost syrupy creamer stirred in, and the minty flavor belonging to the beans themselves. When he'd asked the waitress about it, she'd merely winked at him and told him it was a Pantoran specialty. He'd convinced her to sell him a pound of the caf beans, imported from the Southern continent. The package was now safely stored in his pack.

This was the third time he'd had a meal here, though it was likely to be a long time before he was able to again. He glanced at his chrono; he had four hours before Rex and Ahsoka were scheduled to arrive for pickup and debriefing. He'd be spending a few days with them on the _Drake_ after this, to help with picking up a fresh weapons shipment from the Corellian, Artos Esus.

The door opened with a rush of winter air, and Cody shivered as it gusted past. It was still early in the morning, and increasing numbers of people were moving past on the skywalk outside, occasionally popping in to grab the day's first cup of caf. Though most of those who moved by the frosted window were Pantoran, the occasional non-Pantoran walked by as well, the spaceport in the city doing a regular business from hyperspace lane traffic. His fork hesitated halfway to his mouth for a moment as he saw who walked in. Unlike the Pantorans, who seemed, at best, dismissive of the cold weather, the Kyuzo was bundled deep into the heavily quilted clothing beneath his armored shoulders, his broad-rimmed hat pulled low over his face. As the door slammed shut behind him, he shuddered, as though to shake off the cold.

A couple of the other customers paused, looking up from their breakfasts to eye the newcomer for a moment, before dismissing him and resuming eating. The Kyuzo met Cody's gaze, held it, blinked his orange eyes once, then ignored him, walking to the front counter and attempting to order something from waitress, who clearly did not understand Kyuzoni.

Cody leaned back in his chair and glanced towards the door. It would take the second member of the team a few minutes to arrive.

The trio of bounty hunters were one of Ahsoka's usual contacts, not his. Cody wasn't sure how well to trust a set of mercenaries. Ahsoka had understood his concerns when he voiced them, and counseled caution, but seemed to be of the opinion this particular group was somewhat more trustworthy than most others who hunted bounties for a living. She told him of a long-ago mission on Felucia when she'd first met the trio, then a quartet. Cody had not been with General Kenobi on that mission gone awry, but he vaguely remembered a report he'd read as Ahsoka retold the tale. Ahsoka, the General, and General Skywalker befriended the group and helped a settlement of farmers.

Trustworthy bounty hunters seemed like a contradiction in terms.

He made himself relax, glancing surreptitiously towards his blaster, resting firmly in his holster. This one, named Embo according to Ahsoka, would be there as backup for their leader. Sugi was the one he would have to deal with.

He gulped down another mouthful of breakfast, keeping his head low and using his peripheral vision to keep tabs on the location of the first bounty hunter, who had finally managed to get the waitress to understand him. She was passing him a mug of steaming caf and a bowl of the ubiquitous ginger rice. Embo's amber gaze swept across the room again as he turned to find a vacant seat. Cody had already taken the best, if somewhat drafty, spot, with his back to the corner and a good view of the front portion of the café. Embo made a low, soft grunt, and picked a small table parallel to Cody, beside a crumbling bit of grey wall. They eyed each other for a moment, sizing each other up, and then gave the other a seemingly careless dismissal.

Embo was much more heavily armed than Cody. He turned his frown into a mouthful of spiced rice and vegetable, chewing thoughtfully as he considered how best to vacate the café while fending off the Kyuzo and his partner if something went wrong.

He was nearing the bottom of the platter when the second bounty hunter appeared, much in the same way as the first, with a cold blast of wind. She was deeply bundled up in a heavy, bantha leather jacket, her hands enclosed in thick, fur edged gloves. She reached up and pulled down the jacket's zipper a bit, revealing more of her tattooed face. She shivered once, violently, and beat at her arms a few times with her hands, to warm herself. She wore her violet, corn-rowed hair in a high tail on the top of her head, her vestigial horns poking up through the braids like a sparse crown. She glanced around, her gaze settling on him. She lifted a brow, nodded once in acknowledgement and headed towards the counter to place an order.

It was all done very casually. Embo barely seemed to recognize her existence, and the pair were so unlike in appearance and demeanor that few would think to place them as a team. A more cautious eye, however, would recognize a subtle hand gesture from Sugi, acknowledged by a slight tilt of the hat from Embo. Ahsoka hadn't specified how long they'd been a team, but from the naturalness of their silent communication, Cody suspected it was a long time.

She appeared over his table a minute later, a cup of steaming caf in hand as well as a bowl of steaming vegetables over orange rice. She dropped down into the seat beside him with a companionable sigh, as though they were old acquaintances meeting for a quick bite to eat. She turned slightly to the side and put a heavy boot up on one of the empty chairs while she leaned backward and took a deep drink.

He was startled by the smooth, almost lyrical lilt of her accent when she spoke. "How the locals so easily put up with such cold weather, I do not understand." She drank again, the cold induced redness of her face paling back towards normal. She turned towards him and lifted a scarred eyebrow. "You are Rex's brother," she declared, jerking her pointed chin towards his face. "The resemblance is strong."

Cody shrugged and took a drink of his caf, now starting to cool and gain even more of the sweet, mint flavor. It was almost candied. "Is that a problem?"

"Not a problem," she shrugged. "It's good, to have some family around."

"I suppose you're right about that," he agreed, keeping his voice relaxed and posture easy. She forked a mouthful of breakfast and ate, chewing idly while he watched. Her behavior gave no real indication of whether she knew he was a clone or not. She made reference to them being brothers, but otherwise seemed entirely unconcerned. He had Jango Fett's face. The galaxy was a big place, and though Sugi looked young enough to not have been active at the same time as Fett, she may recognize his face all the same. Having a million other men just like him walking around didn't improve his odds, either.

Clones meant stormtroopers. Stormtroopers meant death or ruin. Barriss reminded him of that, all too recently.

He violently stabbed one of the remaining clumps of rice and vegetable with his fork and stuffed it into his mouth. Sugi swung herself around, sitting straight on her chair as she continued to eat, eying him more warily. "Bad day?"

"No."

She shrugged, then seemed to go back to her meal, except that her left hand swept into her jacket empty, and out again with something flat and metallic. He saw her moving, but was still startled when her hand slid a few inches up his thigh, depositing the datacard on top of it, just beside the hem of his open jacket. If anyone were paying attention to them, they would seem to be a couple, flirting, her leaning in slightly towards him. He tried to play along, but the sensation was odd, and though she seemed somewhat amused by his discomfort at the contact, there was no real warmth there. That she was entirely business was confirmed by her quiet comment of: "The usual. Current wanted lists. A set of fresh transponder codes. Algorithm for slicing into communication relays off the Corellian run."

Sugi leaned back, casually, her hand withdrawing to rest in her own lap.

Cody waited several seconds before he moved to slip the datacard inside his jacket's pocket. He then made a show of being cold and refastening the buttons, shrugging the coat tighter around himself as he slipped a credit chip out, pinching it between his index and middle fingers as he angled it towards her, also discreetly under the table. He dropped it into her palm and the chip disappeared into her coat.

Wanted lists were good to have. It let them know who was still alive, but even if the data was wrong, there was usually little harm done. Transponder codes and slicing tools could go wrong more easily. A bad code could lead the _Drake_ to getting shot down or impounded. A bad slice could set off alarms. Sugi was giving him a mild expression, carefully neutral. Bounty hunters. He was cloned off a bounty hunter, but a lifetime of his own experiences with them made him wary.

"You don't like me very much," Sugi stated, resting an elbow on the table and her chin on her hand. She seemed mostly curious, speculative.

He frowned at her. She wasn't in this for the cause. She expected payment for services rendered, and as a bounty hunter, her loyalty could be bought. Though gangster groups like the Hutts put bounties out on a fairly regular basis, the Empire had an even longer list, with people like himself near the top: a deserter, a traitor, a spy, a rebel. The only thing that kept his name off the wanted lists was that everyone thought he was dead, the ship he'd deserted from blasted to bits, the remains caught in the gravity of a nearby star.

If she knew who he was, who Rex or Ahsoka were, the only thing between himself and an Imperial prison was the integrity of this woman and her team. Ahsoka trusted her, but there were times he wondered if she trusted too easily. How many times had Sugi turned people over to the Empire? How hard would it be for her and Embo to take him down, to turn him over? How easy would it be for them to pull a double cross? He leaned back in his chair, mirroring her casual posture. "When's the last time you were on Coruscant?"

Sugi blinked once, slowly, her eyes remaining closed for a moment while she chuckled once. "Ah," she said, opening them again. "Only those friendly to the Empire go to Coruscant, these days." She kept her voice low, casting a glance around the café for eavesdroppers. The café was noisy with dishes and the sound of clattering plates and chatting people, but none seemed particularly interested in the two of them, save for Embo, who was slowly drinking his caf. Sugi smiled coolly at him. "Two weeks ago," she said. "To deliver a particularly nasty spice runner. The Empire doesn't only want _certain kinds_ of people." She tilted her head towards him, scanning him meaningfully. He was _certain kinds _of people. She knew. He grew cold, his expression hardening, but Sugi still seemed at ease, if serious. "I have two people beside myself to feed. These are not hard times to find work, for a bounty hunter. But then, most bounty hunters take jobs where they can get them, and don't look too hard or too long at the job." She turned away and picked up her caf, took a thoughtful sip, and then looked at him again. "I have a bad habit of looking. So do my crew."

She busied herself again with her bowl of rice and vegetables, seemingly disinterested in Cody's reaction. If he focused beyond her, he could see Embo's glowing amber eyes, slanted in their direction. Sugi ate slowly, steadily, almost absently, uncaring of his consternation. Ahsoka trusted her, to give them valid information, and not to turn them in. Did she really consider the type of job she took, even though she had to feed herself and her crew?

In the warm yellow light of the ceiling lamp, the lavender hair spilling from the top of her head looked sleek, and it fell in a smooth tail over one shoulder. She wore scars over one eye, the mark of a fighter. The tattoos on her face were dark, accenting her forehead, her chin and her cheekbones. As she ate, the patterns on her cheeks rippled. He fought an odd impulse to touch one of the lines with a finger.

Barriss, too, had patterns on her face, and scars. Barriss who had smiled at him over breakfast, then pushed him away in what he could only determine was disgust. He returned his attention to his empty plate and cooling sweet caf.

Trust. Barriss trusted him on Nar Shaddaa, long enough to bring her to safety and to friends. He didn't expect anything from her, didn't think she felt anything for him, but during his last trip home, she'd smiled, and he'd hoped, and then she was repulsed when he bent to kiss her. It was foolish, thinking she would want him, would even want him nearby. He felt stupid about it, and embarrassed, and rejected. He was a clone, and that was enough reason for her to despise him.

Sugi was a bounty hunter, and that was reason enough to distrust her. He picked up his caf. As it cooled, it seemed to grow sweeter, the mint flavor growing stronger, and though it was not the piping hot caf he favored for the morning, it was still delicious. He drank a little more. A habit of looking at the situation as a whole? If only Barriss looked at the whole. He drank again, and the sweetness of the caf helped to ease away the bitterness of the thought.

"There is one more thing," Sugi added, almost as an afterthought, but there was a frown on her face when he glanced at her. "It's no secret, and everyone will know soon enough, but there are recruiting stations opening on Coruscant. For the Imperial Army."

It took Cody several seconds to change gears and process that statement, as well as its ramifications. He set his caf down in mild alarm, some of the liquid sloshing over the side. Recruitment meant bringing in non-clones into the military. That meant cloning would be either shutting down or slowing on Centax, and there would be fewer or even no more clones produced.

No more brothers going into battle. No more brothers being made only to be sent into the ranks of stormtroopers, no more brothers born only to die.

No more new brothers.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the thought.

"Are you alright?" Sugi asked, her voice made rich with curiosity and she was not without a trace of alarm in her expression. The tattoos traced on her cheeks were scrunched up, the ones on her forehead drawing down between her brows.

Rex had Ahsoka. Fives had Behri and the Pea, Echo had Suisen, Waxer had a horde of kids. Everyone got their families, got their lives together, except him. Was it too much to ask? He made a frustrated sound and buried his face in his hands for a moment, pressing his fingers into his eyes before running his hands over his forehead and into his hair. There were millions of brothers out there that didn't even have the amount he did, it was selfish to compare. Still, he wanted what his brothers had, the ones who were free and lived on Alderaan.

At least the men being recruited would be going willingly into the arms of the Empire. Eventually there would be no more fighting brothers, no more killing brothers. This should be good news, but it saddened him as well. He put his elbows on the table and ran his hands over his face again, vigorously enough to distract himself. "Yeah, I'm fine," he allowed, though Sugi's face did not seem any less worried.

Her eyes were brown, not indigo. Her skin was pale, not glowingly olive. Her scars were small, not branch-shaped and hinting at further damage under her clothes. Her tattoos were light, curling, accentuating of the planes of her face rather than diamond-shaped and cute. He wasn't sure how much he could trust her, but she seemed unconcerned by who he was, or what he was, and she was a warrior in her own way. She was almost finished with her meal, only a few bites of rice left to scrape off the bottom of her bowl.

Barriss was far beyond his reach. He probably wouldn't see Sugi again anytime soon, but she was pretty, and tough, and between Barriss and losing brothers he never even knew, he felt oddly lonely. It was too much loss.

"Can I buy you another cup of caf?" he asked quietly. Hers was still mostly full, and it tasted good cold, but he wasn't quite sure of another way of asking her to stay, without sounding ridiculous. The last time he tried to share a breakfast with a woman, she'd turned away.

Sugi was looking at him with surprise, mouth slightly open. She even made a furtive glance towards Embo, who merely blinked into his caf and tilted his head an inch. Cody felt a hand lightly descend onto his shoulder, and watched her face soften a bit. "You know, I don't meet many of the gentlemanly type in this profession. Thank you for the invitation. But I think you need the caf more than me. I'll get you some. I cannot stay too long, though."

Friendliness. He nodded, and she stood from their table, her chair scraping the floor as she moved towards the counter to order another drink.

It would be good, to see Rex and Ahsoka again. He'd be able to pass on Sugi's data, and the knowledge of what was happening to the Army. They'd need to do some prying into Centax's current operations, learn more about what was going on. But he was glad, for the moment, to sit and share company with a bounty hunter – two really, since Embo was so close – and not be alone. After that, he was going to have to think more about how he wanted his life to progress. He had a life outside the army, though it was still a life of fighting. He still did not have a pretty girl to share his bed with.

The aroma of fresh, minty caf hit him just before Sugi sat back down beside him, pushing the drink closer. "Thank you," he said, and she nodded. Sugi had a life of her own, with her own worries and concerns, but he needed someone like her. Someone he could share a drink with when he needed it, who was enough of a fighter to keep up with him and the life he led.

Someone who could know he was a clone and want him anyway.

He sighed, and drank his caf, and let the sweetness of it distract him.

* * *

He folded his arms over his chest as the _Drake_ turned around and settled onto the landing pad.

It kicked up air as it reached the ground, blasting heat from its propulsion systems, and there was a pressurized chuff of air released as the boarding ramp lowered. Cody stepped forward as Rex emerged, a cloud of frosty breath puffing around his face as he walked out into the frigid Pantoran air. Ahsoka was a step behind Rex, smiling and shivering. Neither of the pair had on the heavy, lined coats required for the Pantoran climate, and they were pulling their lighter coats closer to them.

"How'd it go?" Rex asked as they met, and Cody pulled Sugi's datacard out from inside his coat and handed it over to Ahsoka.

"Well enough. There's some public news to share, too. We should probably get inside to talk."

He received a pair of nods in return, but when he looked up again and moved towards the boarding ramp, he hesitated.

Standing just within the confines of the cargo bay stood Barriss. Dressed now like Ahsoka, in sturdy boots, comfortable clothes, and a long brown coat, it was clear she had left Alderaan to join them. There was no lightsaber yet holstered under her arm, but her blaster pistol was resting resolutely against her thigh. She stood tall, calm, her chin high.

She placed a hand against the wall, lightly. Her eyes were dark, steady, and resting on him. "Hello, Cody."

His fists tightened at his sides. Vaguely aware of the concerned look that passed between Rex and Ahsoka, he straightened himself. "Offee," he acknowledged with a stiff nod of the head.

The steadiness around her flickered for a moment, and he wasn't sure what it was he saw – regret? pain? – but it was gone as soon as it appeared, and she nodded once in return before stepping back into the cargo bay and turning, the long tails of her coat swinging behind her.

He grimaced, ignoring Ahsoka's querying look, and Rex's worried one.

Stubbornly, he moved forward.

* * *

First off…this fic has gotten noms! And not the edible kind of noms. Each year, theforce (dot) net has fanfiction awards, and _This is Not Our Fate_ is up in four categories: Best Child (Maera), Best Drama, Best Canon Interpretation: Female (Barriss) and Best Series (for the whole trilogy of 'Joker', 'Worth', and 'Fate'). I'm really happy about the nominations! Don't expect to win a darn thing, but I'm really pleased being on the nomination list! So, cookies for you all, so you can enjoy the noms too! *g*

I loved Sugi and Company in the second season episode _Bounty Hunters_. I really wanted to find a way of using them, even just for a little while. So, they're still floating around, bounty hunting, and doing a bit of information smuggling on the side. For the good guys, ya'know?

And the meal Cody is eating is a variation on a Korean dish called _bibimbap_. It delicious, if you ever get a chance to try it. It's not really a breakfast food, though.

We're coming up the end. The next chapter is going to be a big one.

~Queen


	13. To Restore Amends

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Chapter 13. To Restore Amends

* * *

_Felucia_.

The world was little different than she remembered it; its fungal forests were primordial, dense with fungi and thick with spores. Barriss pressed a hand against the oversized velvety petal of a pitcher plant, her hand a splay of darkness against a bioluminescent aquamarine, the plant's veins pumping golden flecks of brightness from its lamina into its petiole. The phosphorescent process was slow now, but growing stronger as the sun began to edge over the horizon; fresh light was feeding the flora.

The forest was alive. It breathed, in inhalations and exhalations too slow for any to see. As Barriss stretched out with her feelings, she could sense it, flowing old and deep, the light feeding the plants, the flora feeding the fauna, and remains of both plant and animal feeding the fecund soil. Felucia hungered, and inevitably it was fed.

A bird's cry drew her from her thoughts, its wild caw slicing across the air. She withdrew her hand, moist from the luminescent mucus secreted onto the pitcher's surface. It had rained, as it so often did, while they were there. The _Drake_ set down amid a tropical storm that eventually lightened into a drizzle, turning everything muggy and humid. Steam was rising from puddles and pools, and though little streams of water were still trickling from the tops of the massive purple mushrooms that served as the forest's upper canopy, clouds of mist rose from them as well, streaming upward and making the land into a natural sauna.

Barriss' breath was made heavy by the heat, and she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, then pushed her hair back from her face, sweat causing the strands to cling to her skin. Her boots squelched on the wet ground as she stepped away from the pitcher plant, to better look out over the terrain. A pair of rocky bluffs jutted out in the distance, and another almost directly overhead. A ravine crept its way through an embankment to the west of their camp, though the remaining angle led directly into more jungle. A shrill whistle sounded from within, and though she peered closely, it came from the depths of the forest, too deep to see.

She was on edge, and she reminded herself it was because this was Felucia. The sooner off, the sooner she could relax. When Ahsoka announced the destination of their next arms trade off, she'd paled, grown lightheaded, and excused herself to go to the refresher and vomit. She'd given herself an injection so that she could sleep through the trip. So far, not eating before disembarking to meet the gun runner, Artos Esus, had served her well. Nothing had come back up, though the queasiness had yet to subside.

The sooner away from Felucia, the better. She could sleep properly. Drawing on Felucia's endless energy had soothed her headache; the planet devoured everything, but it had energy in abundance, and as she'd learned so desperately after Order 66, that power could be channeled, even though the thought of it nauseated her.

An engine's whine caught her attention; Rex was slowly navigating one of the last containers up the _Drake_'s ramp and into the cargo bay, the repulsorlifts fastened to the sides of the crate skittish. Whatever was inside was almost too heavy for them to bear.

Esus and two of his crew were fastening another set of repulsors onto another crate, preparing it for moving. Their vessel sat near the _Drake_, a more squat, hulking kind of cargo ship, made for transporting larger amounts than the more streamlined light freighter. The _Corbenic_ was not a pretty ship, but she was sturdy. The two ships seemed to be presiding over the exchange of materiel like a pair of mother krayt dragons.

Maera was also on watch, and as Barriss stepped to one side, angling so that she could see past the bulk freight, Rithron became visible. The three of them were on guard duty while the others tended to the transfer.

Moving between crates was Cody. She looked swiftly away, returning her attention to the jungle and trying to ignore the ill feeling sitting in her belly. It was only Felucia making her nervous. Cody's grim silence towards her during the past week only pained her. She did not know how to talk to him. She hadn't done anything wrong – turning away from him was the right thing to do, kissing one man while imagining another was rude at best – but she sensed Cody did not understand her withdrawl, and he was hurt because of it. Barriss wiped away sweat from her eyes again and sighed. She did not know how to approach him, how to explain, and his coldness only exacerbated the problem. It did not help that she did not know what to make of her own feelings over the situation. She did not like hurting him, and though the thought of him having feelings for her was warming, it was also deeply unsettling.

Combined with arrival on Felucia, she was left jittery and nervous, enough to make her sick. She breathed in deeply, trying to inhale a sense of peace, but was rewarded by taking in more of Felucia's fetid humidity and raw energy.

The sooner away from Felucia, the better. She shivered in the heat. The sounds of packing continued behind her, and she watched the jungle.

There was a tremor. It was not a tremor in the Force, but rather a tremor in the ground.

Barriss frowned, a hand stealing towards her blaster pistol, fingers brushing against the grip. She was imagining things. Her stomach clenched and she breathed heavily again, trying to relax. She was being overly sensitive, paranoid. There were no tanks clambering out of the jungle. This place was not the same as during Order 66.

The ground trembled again. Her belly turned to water. They had not been tracked. She was imagining things. She stepped back a few paces, trying to control herself, to keep from suddenly panicking. They were so close to being done. So very close. Ten minutes more, and they'd be off this forsaken planet.

It came a third time, that faint, distant tremor in the ground. Once such a welcome sensation, the last time she'd felt the arrival of walkers was nearly the death of her. Her hand clutched towards her left hip, towards the front, for an absent lightsaber. She moved it further to the right, to her side, and drew her pistol. "Ahsoka?" she rasped, uncertainly.

Again, it came. The leaves of some of the nearby plants shivered, twitching slightly in the rising sunlight. "Ahsoka." Her voice was flat, and she struggled to make it rise another octave. By her third attempt, she managed a scream. "Ahsoka!"

She heard her name called in alarmed reply, in multiple voices, but she did not turn to look.

The heavy blaster cannon of an Imperial AT-AR was protruding from the treeline, emerging slowly, step by ground-shaking step, accompanied by a compliment of white-armored stormtroopers. Their figures rushed forward between the fungi, and the first red bolts of blasterfire winged their way forward. Two smaller, AT-ST's appeared, firing, flanking the first and moving more swiftly.

Blue and green streaked past her, returning fire. The stormtroopers were taking cover, emerging from the misty aftermath of the rain, the exchange of firepower setting the steam alight, casting the morning sunlight into something far more horrific.

Felucia. Felucia was toxic, in some way. Gree said so. She was going to die here. Everyone was dead. The men in the white armor failed the first time. Felucia gave them a second chance. They were all going to die here. Luminara and Aayla, and herself. Bile rose in her throat, and her blaster slipped out of her fingers and fell to the jungle floor with a wet smack.

Something slammed into her, wrenching her from her feet and sending her staggering behind the trunk of one of the mushrooms, hard enough to make her head spin. She was yanked unceremoniously upward and around, and found Gree's face right in hers, demanding, "Have you lost your _mind_?"

She stared at his furious face. Something was wrong. Gree never snarled like that, never talked like that. Not to her, anyway. And he was out of uniform, during a battle. Puzzled, her brows drew together and she tilted her head to the side, absently reaching for his face and patting it, fingers finding the old ridges of wounds she did not remember him ever receiving. "Gree? Where is your armor?"

His expression abruptly changed, face paling while the anger disappeared. He swore once, shoving her back against the mushroom's trunk and wrapping an arm around her, tucking her between himself and their cover as he joined in the return fire. She reached again for her hip, but her lightsaber wasn't there. She struggled a bit, and the arm around her tightened. When had she lost her lightsaber again?

A hand reached up and grasped her along the jaw, forcing it forward and towards him, while he pressed her against the trunk. "Offee, snap out of it!"

He was looking at her intently, and there was fear in his eyes. She felt him shake her a bit, the tension in his hand making him grasp her face painfully hard. His thumb was digging into her cheekbone, his fingertips into her neck. "Offee!" he repeated, shaking her again. "The Clone War is over. We're being attacked by Imperials, not Seps. I'm Cody, not Gree!"

She blinked up at him, then looked out over the melee. The green arc of Master Unduli's lightsaber was spinning amid the collection of freighters, crates and pitcher plants, whirling with wild intricacy, red blast after red blast rebounding back the way they came. The ground shook, harder this time, again and again, the slow, steady progress of approaching walkers. She looked into the face pressed close to hers, saw the frantic worry there, then back across the battle.

The green blade paused, just for a moment, revealing that the figure holding it was not the black robed, Mirialan Master Unduli, but rather a fierce, Togruta Ahsoka. Barriss shuddered as she breathed in, fingers clutching at the arm pinning her back. There were two more blades of bright green, slicing steadily through the air, their twists and blocks slower than her friend's, less accurate, but still swift enough to batter away the shots of blasters. Jedi. Jedi, and padawans.

Ahsoka leapt forward, her long coat fanning out behind her as she moved low, rushing towards the line of fire. The precise blocks of her lightsaber shielded her as she streaked past. The two padawans were several paces behind her, slower but still moving rapidly.

Ahsoka was alive, and she had padawans.

Barriss stiffened and looked up into Cody's face. Her expression hardened, her fists clenched, and she shoved him back, pushing past him to watch as Ahsoka and the two padawans closed in on the front line of stormtroopers.

Ahsoka was not dead, and neither were her padawans.

She could hear the whine of the tank's cannon preparing to fire; it was a sound scorched into her memory, that shrill shriek just before discharge.

She _burned_. All the fire and all of the pain she'd suffered would not be subjected on Ahsoka, on the younglings. They were _hers_, and the Empire could not have them.

Size matters not. Distance matters not.

She reached, and she _twisted_. The walker's heavy cannon snarled in upon itself, the durasteel buckling as the barrel screeched upward and crumpled, the high whine of firing suddenly turning into a deep bellow within the AT-AR's shuddering guts. From where Barriss stood, she could not see the expressions on the faces of the walker's pilot or commander, only a blur of motion through the transparasteel window in the cockpit, in the instant before the walker exploded.

Then Ahsoka was upon them, and her jade colored blade bit into the white-armored ranks.

A fresh volley of blasterfire burst overhead, this time from laser cannons. The blast tore into the ground, kicking up a line of dirt and plant matter as it cut into a wing of troopers headed towards them. Barriss whipped her head around even as she dropped to the ground, just in time to see the _Drake_'s landing struts retract, and another blast erupt from the forward cannon. A cursory scan of the area showed that Rex was absent, and therefore at the ship's controls. The _Corbenic _was still grounded, but its cannons were dropping into position, swiveling, and joining in the return fire, slamming into one of the AT-ST's and sending it flaming backward into a thicket of fungi.

There was a hand on her shoulder in a firm grip, and she found Cody squatting beside her, urging her back behind him and into the small safety afforded by the massive mushroom's cover. He pulled her in, closer, their knees bumping against each other as she moved toward him. They locked eyes for a moment, their communication silent, their breaths hard and long, commingling from their close proximity. She leaned in towards him until their foreheads were nearly pressing, grabbed his arm, clasped it as hard as she could, and shook him once, firmly. Cody nodded, his hand tightening on her shoulder. Her head was clear, she knew where she was. Barriss, still breathing hard, spun, her hand reaching, her forgotten blaster pistol smacking firmly into her palm at her summons.

They moved in tandem, Barriss taking the left, as Cody took the right, each leaning around the base of the mushroom to return fire. With each moment, their opponents were lessening; the final AT-ST wobbled as Rithron sliced through each of its legs in a single motion, his progress unimpeded and swift. The three green blades of light _danced_ through the throng, their owners fading in and out of sight as they rushed through the lines of men, streams of white mist, and billowing clouds of oily black smoke.

"Fall back to the _Drake_!" Cody ordered her over his shoulder. "We're almost done here. Get ready to bang out."

Barriss nodded once, sharply, dropping back and moving from the mushroom to a wide pitcher plant, then into the center of their trading area. There were still a handful of crates of weapons in the middle of the clearing, and as she worked her way closer to the _Drake_, she stopped. There was _pain_ and _fear_ everywhere now, coming from the dying men on Felucia's fields, but there was _fear_ here as well; not the blunt fear of battle, of knowing death was possible and near and waiting, but the sharp, keen fear so rampant in the aftermath, knowing death was not waiting, but rather descending and preparing to consume.

Three of Esus' men were returning fire with blaster rifles, leaning out around the crates of weapons, while Esus himself was kneeling on the ground over a young man, who was lying prone, his legs kicking and twitching as his back arched in pain.

The number of red bolts of blasterfire were dropping steadily now, the blues and greens of the defenders' fire slowing, but Barriss kept low and swift, and diverted her course from the _Drake_ to the man down. She holstered her pistol, kneeling over the wounded man.

He was young; probably a little more than twenty standard years, his hair flaming red and his face ash grey, eyes squeezed shut. He was muscular, well built, healthy other than the gaping hole of burnt flesh over his left side. The bolt had struck two centimeters below his shoulder bone. She reached for his face, but found one of her olive skinned hands caught up in a heavily callused one.

Artos Esus was a large man, broad in shoulder and square of jaw. There were bits of bright red still peppering his beard, but it was mostly iron grey, like his eyes. He was looking at her hard. "You're Jedi," he said roughly, his head jerking in the general direction of Ahsoka, Maera and Rithron. "All of you."

"Yes," she replied.

He bowed his head for a moment, then gave her such a look of desperation it nearly took her breath away. "Save him."

Barriss looked between the young man and the older one. Esus worked with his family, and the one on the ground was clearly his son. His face was dirty, hard, braced for bad news, but she could feel the raw _pain_ and fear of _loss_ milling around him. He released her hand.

Barriss turned and placed her hands on either side of the younger man's head. "What is his name?"

"Gwain."

She ran her thumbs over his face, twisted up from the burning in his chest. Closing her eyes, she moved her hands downward, over his neck and then lifted them, letting them hover a little space above the damaged tissue. She tried not to gag as she shifted her focus to the burnt flesh and the charred odor it was giving off. The edges of the injury were white or blackened, his skin curling up from being cooked to a nerveless crisp. She could see his upper pectoral muscles, purple where they were not charred, livid red where they were burned. Bits of ivory bone were lodged into the muscle, driven there when his clavicle shattered. He'd been caught on the underside of it, just below the bone, and just above his upper left rib.

Barriss let her senses slip into the cracks and fissures of his bones, finding the torn and charred flesh and filling it with coolness, even as she found splinters of bone and pushed them out of his skin and muscle.

It was familiar to her. How many times in her life had she worked on the field, during the aftermath of a firefight? She moved steadily, worked steadily, with the practiced ease she'd earned during the war. She'd seen these injuries many times, though blunted by the armor of clone troopers. She'd experienced these injuries herself, on this planet, and knew intimately well how painful they could be – and also how to heal them.

Bone fragments drifted out of Gwain's skin, rising only to fall to the ground just beyond his shoulder. Bacteria, dirt, spores drifting through Felucia's air, all were purified, expunged from his system, pushed out. She eased the flow of blood to some areas, increased it in others, maximizing the production of white blood cells. She stimulated cellular regeneration, encouraging the muscles to grow, strengthen, knit themselves together again.

Gwain's sudden shudder brought her back. He groaned, flailing with a hand until Artos grabbed it and squeezed firmly.

Barriss moved her hands, giving the two of them space. "He will need bacta, and soon," she warned, helping Gwain prop himself up a few inches with his father's help. "Do you have a medic on board?"

Artos nodded once, pulling his son up and freezing when Gwain cried out. He looked stricken for a moment, before steadying himself. "My sister Gana. She's on the ship."

"Bacta, regularly. I've cleaned it, but it will need regular cleanings to prevent sepsis. Infection can't be allowed to set in. His left clavicle is broken and upper rib is fractured. Keep him immobile and propped up. She should know what else to do."

He nodded again and reached out, grasping Barriss' forearm in a hard grip. "Thank you."

"Get him inside. We're not out yet."

The gun smuggler's face hardened, and he looked out over the clearing. The battle was reaching a lull, with the firing now slow, targeted. Barriss scanned the space as well, locating the rest of her group. Sometime during her time healing Gwain, Cody had moved closer, and was now standing above one of Esus' men, who was kneeling beside a crate. Ahsoka was moving backward, covering the retreat of Maera and Rithron, who were now falling back towards the clearing and the safety of the ships.

Ahsoka and Artos exchanged a quick look, from one commander to another, and on that unspoken signal, began to give orders. Artos hauled Gwain up, the remainder of his men either falling into formation around him or quickly moving to scoop up the bodies of two casualties left sprawled between the crates.

Ahsoka was still standing, her lightsaber moving steadily as she shielded their escape. Cody moved to the boarding ramp of the _Drake_, standing beside it and waiting as first Maera, then Rithron, leapt easily onto it, hurrying inside. The younglings aboard, he reached up and swung himself around, pulling himself up the rest of the way and rolling further up the ramp, until his footing was sure and he could stand. Barriss backed up until she was near it, waiting as Ahsoka edged back more slowly.

There was another line of white armor growing visible through the receding smoke and brightening light of day. They approached more cautiously, firing less and keeping silent, more of their shots directed towards the ramps of the ships. The _Corbenic_ was already drawing up its' plank, its outermost airlock slamming shut and sealing itself with a hiss.

"Get on, Barriss," Ahsoka called out as she backed up. "I'm right behind you."

With a quick turn, Barriss leapt, somersaulting as she rose over the edge of the onramp, landing neatly on her feet and swiveling around just in time to watch Ahsoka imitate her, her body curled up and her lekku streaming as she landed, the ship ascending quickly.

"Tell me we had their comms jammed," Barriss said by way of greeting, and she received a fierce grin in reply.

"What, you think that wasn't the first thing Rex did?" she shot back as she rushed forward, through the cargo bay and into the living areas of the ship, Barriss a step behind her, and Cody's heavier tread pounding another step back. As they ran, Ahsoka began snapping out orders. "Barriss, Cody, I want you on cannons." She waved her hands forward, as they reached the galley, each pointing in the direction of the laser cannon stations. "Maera, Rithron, strap yourselves in," Ahsoka snapped at the pair, who were huddling together near the table, both looking pale and a bit worse for wear.

The padawans moved on hearing their orders, and as Ahsoka rushed towards the bridge, Cody and Barriss parted in different directions, sliding into the shafts leading to the quad laser cannons.

Strapping herself in, Barriss wrapped the headset around her forehead, the communicator coming alive with a crackle of static in her ear. Using the footpedals, she angled herself around, hands wrapping around the contoured grips as she prepared to fire. Felucia was dropping away beneath the gunport, the transparasteel window providing her with what she hoped would be her last view of the planet.

She could still just make out the shapes of stormtroopers, the bright white of their armor standing stark and unnatural against the jungle's vibrantly colored landscape. What few were left were making their way rapidly towards the crates. They could not have known there were Jedi among the gun runners; if they had, they would have sent more than a couple squads of infantry and light walkers. They expected non-Jedi, albeit heavily armed ones, which warranted the walkers themselves. Else they would have sent a battalion, heavy walkers, and possibly even Vader himself.

Barriss bit her lip, fingers twitching on the triggers. There were still three crates down there. She wasn't sure precisely what was in them, but being weaponry, they were likely to be explosive. The stormtroopers were now little white specks surrounding the crates, the red bolts of their blasters too weak and too distant to even scratch the _Drake_'s hull, much less bring it down. Their firing was futile.

The knowledge they carried was not. Survivors meant stories, reports. Reports meant people would know that at least three Jedi were involved, three people wielding grass green lightsabers. The presence of Jedi would draw the Empire's attention, draw Vader's eye. Barriss clutched at the grips tightly.

There could be no survivors. No evidence. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before grimly taking aim.

A round of cannon fire roared out, slamming down into Felucia's soil and striking the crates. Still ascending rapidly, she could not see the white shapes of the men anymore, only the enormous blossom of fire and petals of smoke erupting from what was left of their trade.

She stared at her hands, still resting on the firing grips, her fingers not yet on the triggers. For a moment, she was bewildered, staring at the quickly diminishing smear of smoke on the surface, then at her hands. She hadn't fired.

Moving upwards meant the forward cannon, fired from the bridge, was positioned wrong to take it out. It wasn't Ahsoka or Rex. If it wasn't her either, that left Cody.

She hung her head. It wasn't right, for him to have to do it. Those were still his brothers out there, as different from him as they were. His voice came then, flat and clinical, over the inter-ship communicator, buzzing in her ear. "Target destroyed."

No one cheered or congratulated him. There was a quiet, brief, "Acknowledged," from Ahsoka, and then the announcement, "Get ready. Breaking atmo. One star destroyer, closing in. Cover the _Corbenic_. Prepare for hyperspeed. TIEs incoming."

Barriss placed her fingers on the triggers, lightly. The _Corbenic_ was rising fast and low, a few hundred meters below and beyond them. Two wings of TIEs were moving straight for them, one wing breaking off to chase after the _Corbenic_ while the other made aim for the _Drake_. As they made their final approach, they broke apart, and she shifted, footpedals swinging her around as she targeted the nearest, the targeting screen before her careening wildly as the fighter juked, rolling away from a target lock.

Green blasts were erupting from the _Corbenic_, now bristling with laser cannons, mingling with the red shots of the Imperial fighters. The _Drake_'s blue joined the melee, Cody firing steadily, shooting across the bow of the _Corbenic_ whenever a TIE swooped too close. The _Drake_ bucked as it took fire, deflector shields keeping the ship from bursting into flame. Barriss closed her eyes, ignored the targeting computer, bent her head, and fired just as one of the enemy swung into range. It exploded into a fireball, pitching through the air in a burning spiral before it reached the upper atmosphere of Felucia and began to disintegrate. Another fighter was moving away from her, swooping in towards the beleaguered _Corbenic_, and another round of blue energy beams from her cannon intercepted it, shearing off a wing as its shields overloaded, turning it into an inferno of twisted scrap.

The _Drake_ was in a defensive position over the _Corbenic_ now, and when Barriss opened her eyes, she could see the pale, knife-shaped hull of an Imperial star destroyer gliding into view. They'd be within range of its turbolasers within a minute; it was closing fast.

Another round of blue fire destroyed a fighter, and Barriss swung around to take aim at a fresh wing of TIEs headed their way, just as the _Corbenic_ moved forward, almost seeming to stretch as it made the jump to hyperspace.

"_Corbenic_ is clear," Rex's voice came over the comm. "Hyperspeed in _three, two, one_."

Barriss released the firing grips and slid her fingers into the straps of her seat, hanging on as the _Drake_ shuddered from a final hit. Then her gunport revealed a streaking of stars, all stretching out and then turning rainbow shades of white and blue and purple. Her hands eased, and she leaned back against the seat, head relaxing into the headrest as she caught her breath.

She closed her eyes again. Esus knew they were Jedi, now. So did some of his men. Right now, without knowing him any better, they would have to rely on the Corellian's sense of honor to keep the secret. He did, at least, have them to thank for the defense of his people both on planet and off. It would be a matter of discussion later, she knew, once things had settled.

Barriss placed a hand on the side of her turret, felt the steady hum of the engine through her fingers. There was a faint tremble in the ship, as though she were not entirely well, but still steady enough to continue. There would be damage to repair, hopefully most of it external and superficial. The transponder codes Cody so recently acquired would be put to use, and soon.

They would also be doing a thorough sweep of the ship for tracking devices. The Empire knew they were there. They were tracked somehow, either through the _Drake_ or the _Corbenic_. They could not afford another meeting like this. For a time, they would lie low, make repairs, and make sure they could not be followed.

It had been so long, since she had been in a battle, a firefight. She had not missed it. Her hands tightened on her thighs, forcefully enough to make her grimace. She had lost it for awhile, down there.

What had happened to everyone? How had things become this way? She knew what Ahsoka said, about her former Master and about Vader, but that was not everything. What happened to everyone she knew? What happened to the good men she knew in the 41st?

What happened to _her_?

Barriss reached up and disentangled the comm from around her head, setting it aside as she unstrapped herself.

The quiet sound of voices in the ship encouraged her to stand, to climb back out of the turret, and to prepare herself for what was next to come.

* * *

Cody opened the door to the conservator, rummaged past freeze-dried packages of vegetables and fruit, and pulled out one of the last bottles of Corellian ale.

Things were calming now; the cleanup necessitated by the escape from Felucia nearly at an end. Ahsoka and Rex were on the bridge, running final diagnostics on systems that needed repair. They'd found no evidence of tampering or of tracking devices. They'd do a more thorough search of the outside once they docked somewhere, but it was likely whatever led the Empire to them came from their partners. If the Empire knew there were deserters and Jedi involved in the trade off on Felucia, things would have been much uglier. For now, they would have to wait to hear from Esus, while they minded their own repairs and kept their heads down.

The padawans did not handle it well. They'd been in fights before, but usually from a distance. Both knew how to work the laser cannons, both had used blasters against enemies before. They'd been traveling with Ahsoka and Rex over a year now. Both had killed before. This time, though, the combat was close, hand to hand, face to face, even if the faces of the Imperials were hidden behind helmets. Even hidden, the younglings knew what those faces looked like. Five men with those same faces helped to raise them. Though they were not clones themselves, Cody knew that he, Rex, Waxer, Echo and Fives were essentially big brothers to them. Running their lightsabers through the bodies of men who looked like their family was a new experience.

They'd walked together, heads low, towards the crew quarters. Maera's lekku were curled up so tightly they were quivering. Rithron merely looked green. They each had an arm around the other.

It could have been worse. They saved their horror for after the battle. During it, they remained collected enough to stay in control of themselves.

Cody straightened enough to look over the edge of the conservator door. Barriss sat at the galley's table, just beside the narrow window. Her back was rounded, her shoulders slumped. She was leaning forward, an elbow on the table and her hand pressed hard against her forehead. Her eyes were closed, brows slightly drawn, her breathing slow and deep, steadying. It was clear that she was weary.

He'd had a suspicion about the reason for Barriss' behavior on the planet. She'd been twitchy the entire time they'd been on-world, and had slept nearly the entire week between the announcement of their exchange location and their arrival, coming out of the crew quarters only to eat. He'd asked Ahsoka, where Barriss had been, the day of Order 66. Ahsoka did not need to speak to give him an answer – she merely looked at him with a tired sadness, her montrals paling, while she shook her head once.

He reached in to the conservator again, pulling out a second ale. He shut the door, walked to the table, and set the second one down in front of her, the bottle hitting the table top with a gentle tap. She opened her eyes, looked first at the bottle of amber ale, then up at him, puzzled.

"You look like you need it," he explained.

Her confused look continued for a moment, switching between him and the bottle and then up to him again, the crease between her brows deepening before she sighed and reached out, pulling the bottle closer to her.

When she did not speak, he turned to leave, stopped only by her abruptly blurting, "Cody?"

He paused, and turned back. She was pressing her dark lips into a thin line, but she was looking at him seriously. She lifted a hand and gestured towards the seat across from her. When he hesitated, she nodded, repeating the welcoming gesture more resolutely.

He wasn't sure if he should accept the invitation or not. The last time they were alone, she'd invited him closer only to push him away. He knew, at this point, worrying about it was beneath him; he shouldn't let her rejection bother him so much. She'd made it clear on plenty of occasions what she thought of clones in general, and that he was not particularly welcome around her. He, like his brothers, were only tolerated.

But she was trying to smile at him, looking as uncomfortable as he felt. He gripped the cold bottle of ale more tightly for a moment, before lowering himself down into a seat.

They sat, Barriss looking down at the table, Cody fiddling with the bottle in his hands.

"Thank you," Barriss said suddenly, and when he lifted his head, she shifted uncomfortably for a moment before lifting the ale he gave her a bit. She hesitated, then added, "I probably do need it?"

She said it questioningly, and he cocked his head to one side. Was she trying to start a conversation? Ale was certainly innocuous enough as a topic. He shrugged, and she fidgeted with her bottle some more after a drained sigh.

She looked tired. And one way or another, some of this awkwardness needed to pass. For a brief moment on Felucia, she'd let him protect her, let him hold her body against his, even though she was confused about the time and the place- even though she thought him someone he was not. A moment after that, her eyes had cleared, and they'd worked together so easily. She'd trusted him to fight beside her. But battle was one thing; facing each other during the mundane moments of everyday life was another.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She raised her bowed head and met his gaze, with what appeared to be a genuine attempt at a smile, though it still seemed a little sad. "I will be."

His brothers nearly killed her on Felucia, and she'd gone back to that place to help with the mission. No one would have thought less of her, if she asked to go back to Alderaan for the duration of that particular job. Yet she came anyway. He didn't know if he wanted to shake her for being needlessly stubborn, or admire her for it.

He did not love her. Respected her, understood her pain, sympathized with her, felt attracted to her, but did not love her. Not quite. Not yet. It would be easy to do so. The foundation was there, the respect and the understanding and the attraction, the constant presence of _wanting_. It would be easy to let himself take the final step and cross over into something more. He stood on that precipice, but was not over the ledge yet. He could still step back, control himself, spend more time away and find someone to be forgetful with, even if forgetfulness wasn't what he really wanted.

What did she see him as? A clone, a murderer? A genetically engineered not-human? A string of numbers representing a piece of merchandise? Was it revulsion that made her draw away, that day in the kitchen? Was he so beneath her?

"It was so easy back then," she sighed, lifting a hand to rub at her eyes, then slide her hand up over her forehead, into her hair and down the back of her neck. "Droids were evil. Clones were good. How many were slaughtered today?"

"Clones were good?" he asked, his voice quiet but flat.

Such a look of pain washed over her face then, he leaned back in his chair, startled by it. Her eyes closed, squeezing shut. He was no Jedi, but it did not take a Force-sensitive to see anguish. "Why, Cody? Why turn? Would he have killed me too? Would you?"

He? Cody could see tears pushing their way out of closed eyelids onto dark lashes, and she wiped at her face in irritation, hiding behind annoyance. Her hands formed into fists. "Is it too much to ask, Cody? For peace and someone to care about? It was just a daydream, but it was all I had, and it meant something to me. He would have killed me, if he was on Felucia. Would you?"

He didn't understand. Barriss' head was bowed, eyes still screwed shut, but there were more and more pale tears on her lashes and rolling down her cheeks. He didn't know what to do with a woman in emotional distress, just that she was in pain again, and it was not disgust in her voice. _He would have killed her, if he was on Felucia_. She was talking about a brother. A brother who meant something to her. Who meant enough to cause this kind of anguish, so many years later.

It wasn't revulsion. It wasn't just the deaths of the Jedi, either. It was the betrayal, on an intensely personal level. Order 66 took away her dreams as much as it did her family and her future. He bowed his head. "I'm sorry."

"I know," she said quietly, wiping at her closed eyes again and trying to calm her trembling. "I don't hate you Cody. I know things are not as they were, and I'm sorry for my fears." She opened her eyes and looked at him, the indigo hue of her irises turned bright and glassy from tears. She breathed deeply, and he watched her gather serenity around herself again, building up strength to combat vulnerability.

Though he had not spent as much time with her as he would have liked, he suddenly realized he had never seen her weep for what she'd lost. He'd heard her cry in shock and relief when she first boarded the _Drake_, that day they departed Nar Shaddaa, but he and Rex were chased firmly from the room. He'd never seen Ahsoka cry, either, though he knew Rex had helped her through such painful memories. This time, Barriss was allowing him to see her vulnerable, soft. It was not from the necessity of being under fire, either, but instead her choice to do so. That involved trust, and faith, and friendship. No, it was not revulsion that day in the kitchen, but something far more complex.

She'd served in the 41st. When she stood on the field, dazed and uncomprehending of where or when she was, she called him Gree. Gree, who always spoke with such gently worded regard of his General's padawan. Gree who was stationed on Kashyyyk, not Felucia, the day of Order 66. Gree who shared his face. Gree who was long since dead, and unable to answer her questions, her need for closure, her need to know if he would have turned against her the day the Jedi fell.

He could not give her any more explanation than he already had. Of what it meant to be a clone, trained from decantation to obey, to have blind faith in a broken machine. He did not regret staying with the Empire, in an effort to save his brothers; only that it ever became necessary to do so. He could give no further reply, and so sat in silence.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For having my back today."

One of her hands was on the table now, resting just beside the unopened ale. Her fingers were long, tapered, and her calluses were light, a swordswoman's, but one who only taught lessons to younglings. She had not truly wielded a lightsaber in many years.

He moved slowly, set his hand on top of hers lightly, very lightly, in case he misunderstood and overstepped himself, making an unwelcome attempt at comfort. Her skin was cool, supple, though he could see old scars patterning the back of her hand, paler green against her natural olive. He had, for a moment, an insane wish that he could have stood before her and taken the blast himself, to prevent all of it from happening, to undo everything that had been done.

She was looking at him strangely. Her hand did not move to accept his, but it did not withdraw, either. He didn't speak. Swearing he'd protect her in the future would ring false, promising he would not turn against her would sound hollow. They would feel like empty platitudes, even if he meant them honestly. He said all he could. "You're welcome."

Barriss stared at their hands for a moment, and slowly slid hers away. Before he could bring his hand back, she set hers on top of his, gently, accompanied by a soft squeeze, before slipping away again. She met his eyes. The comfort he was offering was accepted, understood, and not rejected, but she was not willing to linger that way, either. Her hand retreated from his, onto the bottle of ale, and she pried off the lid with a pop. A fresh tang of alcohol filled the air. She held her bottle up, the neck tilted towards him. Puzzled, he waited, unsure of the gesture. She lifted her brows, and he wrapped a hand around his own drink, lifting it and mirroring her gesture, tilting it.

She tapped the rim of his bottle with her own, and the glasses chimed off each other pleasantly.

There was another pause, and then she sipped at her ale, making a face as the liquid hit her tongue, the bitter richness of it sharp. He smiled and took a drink of his own, letting it wash through his mouth and down his throat, almost burning as it went.

He could see the rainbow brilliance of hyperspace streaming by in the window behind her, giving her a many-colored halo.

Respect, and sympathy, and understanding, and friendship. And attraction, and wanting. He found himself stepping off a precipice, and falling forward into something strange and new.

They sat quietly and shared a drink.

* * *

I've so been looking forward to posting this. I hope you all liked it.

If you happen to have the soundtrack to _Children of Dune_, I recommend listening to the song _Inama Nushif_ during the scene on the _Drake_. It really became Barriss' theme over the course of this fic.

Also, to do a minor shameless plug, for those of you who liked the last chapter that included Sugi and Embo, I wrote a story called _Cedar_ not too long ago that focuses on Sugi and her crew. You can find it under my profile.

As always, thank you all for reading!  
~Queen


	14. To One Day Wake

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Chapter 14. To One Day Wake

* * *

She slid the door open, letting it roll smoothly aside, before stepping out onto the patio.

There was just enough of a warm wind to lift her hair away from her face, and she smiled into it for a moment, feeling the waxing warmth of a spring sun. Barriss closed the door behind her before stepping up to the rail that ran around the back porch, taking up a position just beside the steps that led down onto the lawn. She set her hands down on the rail, folding one over the other neatly, before turning her head to the side and nodding once, in greeting, to Cody.

He smiled a little, his weight forward and forearms pressed against the rail so that he slouched, a relaxed position that did not change with her presence. He shifted his weight, tilting himself just enough to one side so that it seemed, now, that they were standing together, rather than merely standing side by side. Barriss lowered her head slightly, and gave him a small smile in return. His broadened.

It took roughly six weeks, for them to deliver all the materiel they'd received from Artos Esus. The smuggler had contacted Ahsoka a few days after the incident on Felucia, with a briefly worded message that they had discovered the reason the Empire had found them, and that measures would be taken to ensure it would not happen again. Barriss was not sure if she wanted to know who their traitor was; Esus' anger was such that they all suspected it was a person rather than a beacon that had betrayed their location.

For a time, now that the deliveries were made, they would lie low and keep quiet, and focus on things that did not involve smuggling and foundation laying.

Ahsoka stood at the front of all twelve younglings, lightsaber in hand, the children in neat little rows of four, staggered so that they wouldn't whack each other with their practice swords. She led them, step by step, through the first of the Shien kata. Though she took them through the positions slowly, the broad sweeps and powerful thrusts that defined the form were blended with what would be quick, darting jabs and feints when done at full speed, a lithe, clever style Ahsoka had refined down the years. Each step brought the rows around, not in the signature circles upon circles of Soresu, but what would someday become a bitingly fast series of switches and interwoven steps, spinning spirals cut through by straightforward slides forward.

In the hands of the youngest, the swords bobbed unevenly as they worked to keep up with their older peers, but keep up they did, even though their motions often lagged a second behind. Even from Barriss' vantage point on the patio, she could see their faces, see determination on some, concentration on others. They slid as one unit to the right, their swords slipping into a horizontal block across their chests. They tilted forward, swords crossing in front of them as they blocked to the front, without pause, turning the block into an upward, parrying sweep, then down into a riposte. Their feet swept across the grass, now emerging into a vibrant green.

At the back of the square of younglings were Maera and Rithron, their lightsabers standing out brightly against the duller, wooden swords of the younger children. Roo moved between them, her long ear flaps swinging behind her from where they were bound up on the top of her head.

Barriss smiled at the sight. She remembered their conversation, several months ago, and how certain Roo was that Barriss would change her mind. It was a relief to know the girl was right.

"You seem happy," Cody stated, and she glanced at him. He was watching her, as he so often seemed to these days, with a kind of curious expression, one both patient and thoughtful at once.

She looked down at her hands for a moment, still smiling, before saying, "Will you walk with me?"

It was a pretty day in early spring; the sun was warm though there was still a chill lingering in the air. The sky was clear of the rainclouds that threatened most of the morning, leaving only a humid coolness instead. Walking would help, she decided. Walking would allow her to do something other than fidget and feel flustered. She was still not entirely certain of how to broach what she needed to talk to him about.

He straightened and gestured towards the steps, allowing her to go first. Once on the grass, he fell into step beside her, but walked just slightly slower, letting her set the pace and their destination. As he had shifted to turn towards her while they stood, she kept herself angled slightly towards him, keeping their stroll comfortable and together. She aimed them away from the younglings and their practice, and towards the thin set of woods that bordered one side of the yard. It would permit some measure of privacy, and provided a path for them to walk.

They walked in silence for awhile, and Barriss was relieved to find it remained a comfortable silence. The grass was turning green, but there was still enough of the older, dead grass from winter to crunch beneath their feet. She folded her arms across herself, enjoying the cool temperature. It was not hot enough to be uncomfortable, nor cold enough to make her freeze. Cody had his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his jacket, the collar upturned to protect his neck. "Cold?" she asked him.

He smirked a bit, one corner of his mouth curling upward. "Warm enough."

She chuckled and resisted an urge to roll her eyes at him. The past six weeks had been strange. After Felucia, after sitting together and sharing a drink, something had changed. She suspected it was more on her part than on his; she could still feel the _wanting_ emanating from him, though now there were subtler layers to it that she found oddly intriguing. It was hard to resist reaching out, brushing her senses across his mind in order to tease them out, to better understand what was happening. It was unsettling, in some ways, to find him watching her, but instead of turning quickly away, embarrassed and annoyed, she would meet his gaze, challenge it, and find him smiling at her as a result.

It was hard not to return that smile.

She enjoyed it, though she scolded herself for it often enough, finding herself eventually turning away from him out of shyness and uncertainty rather than irritability. On the nights they traveled between stars, she slept on one side of the crew quarters of the _Drake_, and could not help but hear his steady, deep breathing on the other side of the room, the sounds of his inhalations far heavier than those of Maera or Rithron. Sometimes he'd make a sniffly, almost snoring noise, and she'd find herself suppressing a laugh into her blanket.

He'd kept her alive on Felucia. The situation was not the same as Order 66, but he kept her alive, and he was willing to go so far as to kill his brothers to keep her, Ahsoka, and the padawans safe. It was not Order 66, but it was a test all the same. There was no way of passing the test well – someone would die, whatever happened – but it did, at least, prove to her where his loyalty lay. In retrospect, she wished there was another way. That she had trusted more easily, or a different measure of his loyalty could have been made.

She sighed. "I am going to be leaving."

Barriss did not need to look at him to feel his sense of good humor fade. He stopped walking, and though he hid it well on his face, she could feel an uncomfortable sense of _loss_. She stopped a pace ahead of him and turned, bracing herself for the conversation she wanted to have, and wishing she knew she was making the right choice. "Some time ago," she began, "Roo asked me to take her as a padawan. She's next in line in terms of age and ability, and has expressed interest in learning the healing arts. I initially told her no, but she was convinced I would change my mind with time, and I have."

Cody nodded a couple times and drew a small smile up to his face, a polite smile without warmth. Barriss continued, "When she asked me, I felt conflicted about many things." She hesitated, looked away from him and into the trees, which now obscured the house and the yard. "I still feel conflicted at times," she added, her brow creasing in worry, "but I think my time here, as well as returning to Felucia, has helped me."

She unfolded her arms from around her waist and made herself stand taller, her shoulders back and her chin high, with her hands resting easily before her. "I've talked to Ahsoka. With the new financial arrangement, and the increasing demand for weapons among the rebel networks, we've agreed that it's time to procure a second ship." She took a breath, wrapping her hands around each other tightly so that she would not wring them. Cody was waiting, standing still and tall and formal, as though he were receiving orders from her, or going through a briefing. His hands were out of his jacket pockets, and were tucked behind his back, his feet set solidly apart and his shoulders set. He regarded her steadily, silently, and she was not sure how to understand what he was feeling; there was only a _hardness_ to him now. The ease she thought they'd begun to develop was absent.

It almost changed her mind. She clenched her fingers together and looked downward, towards the trail they were following. If he rejected her offer, it would undo so much of the friendliness they'd established the past few weeks. She'd be embarrassed, and the only good thing about it all would be that she would leave, and wouldn't have to face him for awhile. She took a deep breath and centered herself, then met his gaze, challenged it, and declared: "I'd like for you to come with me."

He wavered for a moment, startled, before resettling himself into parade rest again, his brows drawn sharply together. "You want me to come with you?"

Some of her courage failed her and she bent her head, looking away again, in the general direction of the house, the younglings, the padawans, Ahsoka. She was not sure if she was pale from the thought of his rejection, or flushed from the thought of his agreement, only that her face felt strange. Barriss unclasped her hands and moved them behind her, twining her fingers together again. "You would be a great help," she said. "I am unfamiliar with all the contacts we've established, and I will be training Roo as well." Barriss turned back to him again and tried to sound more certain. Cody had shifted positions, the formality dropping away as he folded his arms across his chest and looked at her skeptically. She lifted her chin and took a step forward, towards him, her hands out, palms upward. "I would also," she began haltingly, pausing before starting again, "I would like your company."

_Hope_.

She felt it before she saw it expressed on his face. His arms slid slowly to his sides, and the dull hardness about him faded. She'd seen that look on his face before, many times over the last few weeks, but for the first time the morning in the kitchen, when she'd prepared tea, and he'd prepared caf, and he'd offered to make her toast for breakfast. This time, she knew her face was flushed. The many layers of _wanting_ were there, warm and filling and sweet. She allowed them to fill her, to buoy her, and she swelled with it, letting it answer her question. She smiled at him, a little sadly, but a little happily too.

He was not Gree. She could not cling to an attachment, a wish, a dream that had never truly been. Perhaps that was a truer wisdom of detachment: to know when to let go, to face troubles and then allow them to pass, to continue moving forward.

Her life since Order 66 was filled with the bitterness of loss and loneliness. The sweetness he felt for her could not erase it all, but it could wash away some of the pain, if she allowed it. Perhaps he knew that as well; perhaps he wished for that same replacement of bitterness for sweetness.

"I can make you no promises, Cody," she told him, placing a hand lightly in the center of his chest, feeling the warmth of the skin beneath his shirt and the steady pounding of a living heart. "But I thought, perhaps, if you wish, we could begin anything else from here."

He leaned into her hand, and she closed her eyes as she felt his warm breath on her face. One of his hands came up to hers, resting heavily on top of her own, his fingers clutching hers. His exhalations became unsteady, his heartbeat quick. She felt a pair of lips placed on hers, a little chapped, but soft, and tasting slightly of the minty caf he so favored as of late. The kiss lingered, but not for long. He drew away, and she opened her eyes while her cheeks darkened. She hadn't really meant for him to kiss her. "Or perhaps there," she said, feeling oddly shy, but pleased in spite of herself.

When she looked up at him, he was smiling, widely, still leaning close. She cleared her throat and chided herself for suddenly wanting to throw caution to the wind, to initiate a second kiss, something deeper and more insistent. They had time. They could move slowly. That was the wisest course. She still felt too unsure for real recklessness. "Will you walk with me?" she asked.

He laughed, low and deep in his throat, and Barriss heard the echo of other men's laughter in it, the sound old and familiar, but still uniquely in Cody's voice. He positioned himself beside her, and she took his arm, placing a hand around a bicep, which he covered with his own fingers.

"Yes, I'll walk with you."

They hesitated a moment, looking first at each other and then down at their own feet, as though unsure who would take the first step.

After a false start, they moved forward together.

* * *

Roo-Roo set her practice sword aside.

It was the last one on the rack, right at the end. She paused a moment to make sure she hadn't set it in wrongly, upsetting the balance of the others and causing them to fall. They stayed where they were, and she grinned, dusting her hands off by clapping them together. She turned and left the little shed, and Maera pushed the door closed, locking it and slipping the key on its' ribbon around her wrist.

The two girls turned together to head back to the house; it was nearly dinnertime, and with the wooden swords put away, clean up from the afternoon's practice was finished. They did not get more than a step, before stopping. Master Barriss was standing beside the corner of the porch, her arms folded and a small smile on her face. Cody was a little ways behind her, sitting on the edge of the steps leading upward. He was also smiling.

Roo looked at the two of them, Barriss standing tall and Cody sitting casually, each of them looking pleased, and Barriss with a certain, amused glint in her eyes.

She had seen this before. It was months ago now, but she had _seen_ this before.

Seeing glimpses of things that were yet to come was familiar to her. Sometimes those visions were complex, shifting, never really the same from one glimpse to the next, always weaving in and out in a fog of uncertainty. Over the past few months, she'd concentrated on that aspect of the Force, trying to hone her skills, though both Masters Ahsoka and Barriss told her, warned her, the future is always in motion, and that such visions were more guide, more possibilities, than concrete happenings.

This one scene, though, persisted. It was just a snatch, a quick flash of something that would be, even if it wasn't always connected to anything else. She wanted it to be true; whenever this scene came to her, others of her training with Master Barriss were soon to follow. Those images were just as formless as any other set of visions, bits and pieces of things both mundane and exciting, but always accompanying this one scene.

It was hard to know when any of those images in her head would come true, if at all. That was why this moment could still sneak up on her unexpectedly. She caught her breath, balled up her hands, and let her eyes widen even as her mouth curved upward into a grin.

"Um, Roo?" Maera said, uncertainly, glancing back and forth from Barriss to the Gungan girl.

Roo-Roo's smile only broadened. "It's okay, Maera. Isa'll be there in a minute." She looked significantly at Maera, then down at Maera's left hip, where her lightsaber hung, then tilted her head and angled her eyestalks in a suggestive manner. The Twi'lek girl blinked once in incomprehension before her brown eyes rounded in understanding, and her face lit into happiness. She bounced once on her feet, beaming.

"Then I'll see you in a bit, Roo," she said, meeting Barriss' eyes, then Cody's, in acknowledgment as she hurried off, forgoing the steps entirely and leaping over them to reach the patio, the back door, and the house.

Left to themselves, Roo turned back to Barriss and waited. She did not wait long.

Barriss' tone was reserved, her expression formal, save for the continuing glint of amusement in her eyes. "You have been very patient, Roo-Roo. And I have changed my mind. I would be honored to have you as my padawan."

"Isa would be very honored to have yousa as my Master, Master Barriss," Roo intoned formally, managing to make a serious face for the duration of the sentence. Then her face split back into a grin, and she rushed forward, nearly tackling Barriss into the grass as she flung her arms around her waist. "Isa won't let you down, Isa promise!"

Master Barriss was laughing, lightly, and, pressed against her, Roo felt her body shaking at the motion. A slender hand came down on top of her head, smoothing her arching earflaps downward. "I'm sure you won't, Roo. We've got some things to take care of first," Master Barriss said, turning so that Cody was included in the conversation. "Starting with a couple of lightsabers. You need one, and I've been without for far too long."

A _lightsaber_. She would have a lightsaber, like a real Jedi. Roo released Barriss and straightened, trying to mimic some of the serious dignity that Master Barriss always seemed to carry with her, even when she was laughing, like now. "We can make plans later. For now, why don't you go tell your mother?" Master Barriss suggested.

Roo-Roo smiled, this time more reservedly. As a padawan, she would be leaving Alderaan for extended lengths of time. It would be the first time she'd ever been away from everyone, including her mother. Mama would be proud, though. "Isa will. Thank you, Master Barriss." She turned a bit and grinned at Cody. "Yousa too, Cody."

"I'm not sure I had anything to do with it," Cody chuckled, standing from his perch on the side of the stairs.

Roo tilted her head to the side and smirked. "Oh, Isa think you did," she replied, looking from him to Barriss and back again, before stepping away from the confounded looking adults and rushing for the stairs. Before entering the house, she paused and looked back.

The scene always ended this way, with the last image she saw being Cody stepping up beside Master Barriss, the two of them shoulder to shoulder and looking after her with a bit of puzzlement.

She entered the house and shut the door behind her. Future images from the Force were always a little vague, a little uncertain, sometimes a little impossible. But sometimes, they were just enough to let her know that there were, occasionally, happy endings for people.

Herself included. She balled up her fists, leapt towards the ceiling and crowed, loud enough for the whole house to hear, "_Isa am a padawan_!"

* * *

It was not the same sight that welcomed her as a girl, but there was a similarity to it, all the same.

When she was a girl at the Temple, the long rows of tables would be filled with younglings, initiates still in the early stages of becoming Jedi. Each of them would be hoping to become a padawan to a Master they admired, each of them wondering what their futures would be, even as they lived from day to day and proceeded through their schooling. The tables would be filled with younglings of different ages, different species, some large, some small, all different colors and backgrounds, shapes and sizes, all a bit hushed even while they were free for the dinner hour to do as they pleased. There would be minders about, making sure no one got into trouble, as well as Knights and the occasional Master wandering through the cafeteria area for their own meals. Dinner was not solemn – never solemn – but, as many things at the Temple were, it was reserved, and the energy that younglings always had was subsumed by the quiet dignity imbued in the Temple itself.

This place was not that place. The house on Alderaan was a large house, by ordinary standards. It had to be, for so many people to live within it – but it was not the Jedi Temple, with its solemnity, grace and elegant age. There was only one table rather than several dozen, as long and large a table as it was. Overflow was handled by the stools set at the kitchen counter, on those rare days when everyone, somehow, managed to be home. Days like today, when no one was traveling, no one was working, no one was wandering the stars.

Younger children were wedged between adults and older children. A high chair was squished between two of the adults, who were taking turns at coaxing the baby into eating pureed fruit. One of the younger children was passing a tray of steaming pasta over the heads of everyone, her hands in the air and carefully floating it, another child waiting with his hands also in the air to catch it, lowering it down before scooping out a helping for himself and passing the platter on with his hands instead of with the Force.

It was noisy, and boisterous, and things floated over people's heads on a regular basis, everyone occupied with filling their plates, making sure younglings were seated in their chairs opposed to standing on them or running around the table. People shouted up and down the table, carrying on conversations that overlaid other conversations, everyone lifting their voices to be heard by the ones they were talking to.

Barriss paused for a moment in the archway that led from the kitchen to the dining room, watching the event. It was loud, almost to the point of being overwhelming, and she hung back for a moment to watch as Nura hugged Roo with one arm, as Waxer chided Neaera for taking more than she could possibly eat, as Rex leaned close to Ahsoka and said something that made her laugh, as little Sia accepted a spoonful of baby food that she did not instantly spit back out, as Behri and Fives exchanged a look of relief and victory, as Echo handed Suisen a tray of vegetables, and as Maera levitated the pasta across the table to Rithron.

It was not the stately elegance of the Temple, though it was now her home as much as the Temple ever was.

She had lived too long in the past, with past fears and old angers. She now needed to not only live in the moment as it was, but to look to the future they were trying to create. Jedi, soldier and civilian were all gathered here, drawn together by a common purpose which united them as both family and friends. Barriss slid her hand off the arch which led to the dining room, and slowly stepped inside.

Amid all the chaos of feeding so many people, there was an empty chair left at the table. She slid into it, almost unnoticed by the larger group, so occupied with their own food and preparations and conversations. She placed her hands on the table, touched the base of the fork and knife on either side of the white plate before her.

From her left, a platter presented itself, full of dark purple string beans. She accepted the tray from Cody's hands, and, tentatively, returned his smile.

Everyone was so very _alive_.

* * *

_End._

* * *

I wanted to say thank you to everyone who has so kindly stayed with me throughout the course of this fic, in all its parts. Writing this trilogy has been a labor of love for about two years, and all your support and interest and feedback has been tremendously kind and helpful.

I also wanted to share that, as of last week, this fic has won a few awards over on TheForce (dot) net's 2011 Awards Ceremony. _This is Not Our Fate_ won for Best Drama, Barriss Offee won for Best Canon Interpretation: Female, Maera won for Best Child, and all three parts of _Said the Joker_ won for Best Series.

So again, thank you all, and I hope you've all enjoyed the tale. I would greatly appreciate any final thoughts as the series draws to a close.

Please look forward to the upcoming epilogues.

~Queen


	15. Epilogue 1 White Footprints

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Epilogue 1. White Footprints

* * *

"Take me as your padawan."

The words were simple, to the point, and entirely unexpected. Ventress had only agreed to the sparring match with the brat out of pity. Offee didn't use dual sabers, and though Tano occasionally utilized a _shoto_, its' use was not the same as a pair of regular length lightsabers. The girl favored her right blade too much, and would likely get herself needlessly killed if no one corrected the problem. Why the brat decided to take on a style so different from either of her Masters, Ventress did not know, nor did she particularly care.

Nor did she care about taking on padawans. She rolled her eyes and flicked off her lightsabers, returning them to their holster at the small of her back. She replied, bluntly, "No."

The girl twitched, extinguished her own blue blades and returned them to her hips, before balling up her fists, glaring at the ground, then dropping to one knee as though in supplication. Ventress' brow lifted, and she snorted once, interrupting the girl before she could make another plea. "I am no Jedi, brat. Surely your Masters have told you that by now."

Ventress turned to leave, to go find somewhere on this overpopulated little ship where she would not be badgered by a girl who had no idea what she was asking. The _Drake's_ cargo bay was where they each came to practice. At the moment, it was abandoned save for the two of them and a set of communication relays, stored in large durasteel crates.

"That is why I am asking," the girl shot back, still on one knee with her head bowed. Now, though, it was tilted to the side, and Ventress could see the curve of her face though messy tendrils of hair. She was the youngest of the brats on the ship, Tano's newest tagalong, a pale little girl named Olwen. "Don't underestimate me, just because I'm not up to your skill level with a lightsaber. Yet."

A second brow lifted to join the first. Mouthy little thing. She snorted and turned again to leave.

There was a motion behind her, and the sound of two lightsabers igniting in unison, as the girl vaulted overhead, landing just before the stairs leading up into the rest of the ship. She stood defensively, blades outward in a basic Soresu stance, the light of the sabers making her blue eyes gleam.

There was _determination_ there, but no killing intent. No _anger_ or _malice_, though there was an underlying sense of _desperation_. She was still tired from the sparring, her breathing still heavy and her pale hair escaping its chignon, damp with sweat. "Do you honestly think you can challenge me?" Ventress asked her, amused, and the girl did not flinch.

"No. If there was any doubt of that, it was proven earlier when we sparred."

"Tano can teach you technique."

"It's not technique I'm after. I want vengeance."

She spoke with such cold clarity Ventress did not doubt her. She waited, holding the girl's gaze, and the brat took her silence was permission to continue.

"One of the search teams came to my home. For me. They killed my parents and my sisters before taking me."

Now came the _anger_. It would not have taken a Force-sensitive to see it, it was written clearly across her face, in the trembling of her grip. Ventress leaned backward somewhat, frowning. Tano and Offee would council the girl to abandon her need for vengeance, to push it aside, detach herself from it and ignore that it was present. Her anger already existed, and it was deep. To do such a thing would merely allow for that anger to fester.

Olwen was only slightly younger than herself, when she lost Master Narec. She snorted and scowled. His death led her to years of blindly pursuing retribution for his demise, annihilating those she perceived to be her enemies, using her power and cruelty to hurt them in the ways in which she had been hurt. It was childish, simple-minded and unfocused, leaving her to be caught up in the games of powerful men, those who used her skills and strength by manipulating her fury.

But this girl knew nothing of that. "What makes you think I could teach you to take your vengeance?"

The brat smiled. Her lightsabers lowered slightly as her arms relaxed, and she breathed more deeply. "I see it in the Force. The white footprints that mark the places people have passed. Yours stand out clearly, since so many roads you've walked have been dark."

Ventress turned her most annoyed glare on the girl. Olwen did not flinch, but her smile faded and her lips pursed into a hard line. She adjusted her grip on her weapons. "You possess skills in psychometry."

The girl nodded once, warily. "We came into contact during the sparring."

Psychometry was usually used upon inanimate objects, not living people. Ventress' frown deepened at the possibilities this presented. She had no such skills herself, but understood their uses, their benefits – and their difficulties. Tracing the path of an object used for killing and death was imposing enough, but to pick up on the tracks left by living beings opened the potential for repeated traumas. She did not like the idea of the brat peering across her past, but she liked the idea of an uncontrolled Force-user with such skills even less.

She would grow to be dangerous. If her anger festered within her, it could boil over. She would easily be a powerful tool if she allowed herself to be caught up in someone else's plans.

The girl was poised to walk the same path Ventress did, when she was young.

Ky Narec was a good man. A great man. A hero to her, and for a time, to her people as well. She held him up in her mind as an icon, the driving force behind her need for vengeance. She'd taken up his lightsaber along with her own, on the day he fell. Ventress looked to the dual lightsabers clutched in the girl's hands. "Why two?" she asked.

Olwen wavered, a look of pain washing over her face briefly before she schooled it back to calm. She hefted first one hilt, then the other. "I had an older sister, and a younger."

Ventress closed her eyes and turned away for a moment. It was a long, bitter path to walk until she learned to control herself, to see clearly without her hatred clouding her vision. Tano and Offee would teach the girl the way Narec taught her; to release her anger into the Force, to detach herself from that which caused her pain. They would try to soothe her with meditation, with Jedi teachings, and perhaps also by providing her with new family and friends. They would counsel her to resign herself to fighting the Empire, and ignore the closer, more personal pain.

It would not be wrong. But would it be enough?

It had not been, for her. Without Narec, she had nothing but her vengeance to fuel her, and that anger spiraled into hate. Olwen, though, had the advantage of having more teachers than Tano, more people to rely upon. Ventress had no desire to take on an apprentice. She would be a poor teacher anyway, and had enough problems of her own without a half-trained adolescent brat tagging along needing attention and training.

She turned back to tell the girl, once more, 'No', but as she did so, she met her eyes again, and found the expectation of rejection. There was _bitterness_ there, and _hurt_, but also _acceptance_. She knew her request was futile. She expected to remain with Tano, and yet asked for the impossible anyway.

The girl meant it. She honestly wanted to follow her, to learn from her, even after using her telemetry to see the darkness in Ventress' past. She may not understand all of it, may not have seen everything clearly, or guess at the depth of the dark, but she knew of its presence, and was not only unafraid, but asking to join her, and be guided by one who had already walked there. She could be steered either through those paths or away from them.

The brat accepted her as she was, and was not afraid of the dark.

Ventress' voice was rough when she said, "I am no Jedi. I do not take padawans." The girl merely lowered her eyes at the pronouncement, before Ventress added, "But I will train you, nevertheless."

Olwen's breath caught, and she stared openly, her mouth slightly open as her eyes widened.

"And put those away," Ventress added irritably, flicking her fingers at the pair of blue blades. "There's no purpose igniting them if you do not intend to use them."

"Yes, Master," Olwen said quickly, dousing the lightsabers and tucking them back into her hip holsters, her hands wringing with the sudden lack of anything to hold.

Ventress frowned, then grimaced, more at herself than anything else. _Master_. She'd never asked Master Narec if he had a student before her. How had he known how to train her? Where to start? She frowned. Tano was going to have a fit. That would be amusing, at least.

"You'd best not disappoint me, brat," she added, sounding less intimidating than she meant to. The girl was barely responding to her glare, and was smiling in return, a small, determined curve of her lips accompanied by a resolute gleam in her eyes.

Her response was simple, cool. "I do not intend to."

Ventress did not return her smile, but found her scowl softening all the same.

* * *

I lift most of my names from other sources. Olwen's name is taken from the _Mabinogion_, an early cycle of Welsh Arthurian legends. The meaning of her name is "white footprint" or "white track", which gave me the idea for making her have skills in psychometry. Olwen, for having such an itty bitty part in the whole _Said the Joker_ storyline, was unbelievably pushy about wanting Ventress for a Master. So, she got her way.

~Queen


	16. Epilogue 2 Resilience

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Epilogue 2. Resilience

* * *

She _danced_.

The blue beam of her blade burned through the air around her, humming tunelessly though varying in pitch based upon her pose. It served as a more intricate counterpoint to the dull, steady thrum of hyperspace engines. The circles upon circles of Soresu made her spin, whirling smoothly through the stances of her kata, the pointed blade of her lightsaber bobbing and weaving with each movement. Whenever the blade passed close enough, it lit her face and made her eyes, half lidded in concentration, gleam.

Cody smiled a little, as he watched her practice. Much as it was on the _Drake_, the docking bay of the _Gadfly_ served dual purposes as both cargo hold and practice area. Now, though, the bay was empty of all but training equipment and a few practice mats laid out on the floor. The shakedown cruise they'd been on the past week had been successful; they'd worked out a few bugs in the computer mainframe, made some improvements to the power couplings on the starboard side, and successfully completed a trip to Ilum for a new crystal.

Barriss was, as she had been much of the last two days, testing out her new lightsaber.

She whirled, her weapon tracking a perfect arc around her, body low and legs bent before rising, a foot sliding around as she swept upward in a neat riposte, eyes now closed as she put herself through her paces. She slid from one stance into another, smoothly and without some of the hesitation he'd seen when she first began to adjust herself to her new weapon. She was growing in her confidence, her movements more certain with each pass.

Then it was over, and she was slipping back around into her starting position, saber above her head, horizontal to the ground, left hand outreached as though in warning, weight on her back leg.

He clapped.

Barriss flicked her lightsaber off and straightened, turning to look at where he stood, her head tilted slightly to one side. She nodded once, as though in thanks. When he smiled at her, she looked away for a moment before lifting her head and asking, mildly, "Would you care to spar?"

Cody's smile broadened a bit. "I'm not sure how fair that is, you having a lightsaber and all."

Barriss lifted a brow, then the hand holding her lightsaber, releasing it to float in the air for a moment before turning her palm behind it and levitating it smoothly past Cody to where she had a small towel and a bottle of water lying on the floor. The lightsaber came to a rest on top of the folded towel, and she said, "Now I no longer have an unfair advantage." She waited, standing still in the center of the mats, her hands resting at her sides.

Cody slid off his shoes and pushed them aside before stepping onto the mat himself. He moved forward slowly, sizing her up again. As a Jedi, she was primarily used to fighting with her lightsaber, but she'd be good even without it. His arm twinged in memory, of their first meeting since Order 66, on Nar Shaddaa, and how she'd taken him down. This time, though, he knew better what he was up against, and what she was capable of. This time, they were on more equal footing, even if it was just practice.

He breathed in, trying to steady himself. Barriss' posture was relaxed, calm, her face unexpressive, except for her eyes, which he was getting somewhat better at reading, lately. Even without her lightsaber's glow, they were gleaming a little, considering him in return. He met her gaze with his own.

"I could do with a rematch."

Barriss smiled in return, and they each dropped into opening stances, their hands coming up in preparation for either strike or block. "Do not think it an easy matter, just because I am no longer armed."

She struck first, almost blindingly fast towards the head, clearly meaning to take him down quickly. Still, he was able to block with a forearm, just a few inches from his head. They hovered that way for a moment, her hand over his shoulder while he kept her from hitting him. Grinning back, he replied, "Never thought it would be easy, but I can win this time."

The gleam in her eyes grew. "That remains to be seen."

She struck again, this time with her left, which he once again blocked. Not to be forced into the defensive, he turned the second block into a strike, lashing out towards her chest. She evaded, somehow twisting out of the way at the last second as his fist met only air. Swiveling, he brought his other arm back to try to make contact with an elbow, but he only managed to graze her, feeling the fabric of her clothes instead of any solid contact.

He drew back around as she closed in. The smile was gone from her lips, but the gleam in her eyes remained, intent and focused solely on him.

Perhaps, when they were done, she'd allow him to kiss her again. He had to fight to keep a smile off his face at that thought. In the months since their return from Felucia, while they purchased the _Gadfly_ and made preparations for Roo-Roo's padawan training, they'd continued to take walks together. Sometimes it would be in silence, while other times they would talk, quietly, about themselves. And there were also times they would simply work out plans for the future. Increasingly, though, those walks and discussions would end with pleasant kisses exchanged.

This past week began awkwardly, with no one else really around them. No younglings, no adults chasing the younglings. Their usual sense of normalcy was gone, and the equilibrium they established in its place was a quiet one. It became just the two of them, running tests on their new ship and Barriss building her lightsaber. The quiet was eerie, each of them preoccupied with their own work. He hadn't tried engaging her in more personal pursuits, and she had not approached him, in turn.

She evaded him again, neither of them managing to quite land a hit on the other. He was breathing hard, and so was she, slipping past him, just close enough that he could feel her slide past. He wanted to win; partly to show off, but partly also to prove himself, to let her see he could match her.

A low kick was aimed towards his shin, and he tilted, her foot scraping past to come down just beside his. She prepared herself to strike at him, and instead of blocking it, he caught her fist while twisting from the hips, shifting his weight forward so he could lift his back leg, driving it into her upper calf and forcing her knee to buckle. Her body shape gave her increased speed and flexibility, but what he lacked in that, he made up for in weight and muscle, which he used against her now, pushing himself forward until she toppled over.

Barriss hit the mat with an "_oomph"_ and a roll. He scrambled to recover, pushing himself back up while reaching for her wrists, before she got the chance to grapple back.

She was oddly unresisting. Cody stopped, looking down at her, wondering, for a moment, if it was a trick and she was going to throw him halfway across the room. She was half beneath him, one wrist pinned down at her side, the other one in the air, hovering, incased in his hand. She was still breathing hard, looking up at him with wide eyes. Her hair, still short, was just long enough to pool in a black puddle around her head, falling in soft curls where it touched the ground. The color in her face was rising, deepening behind the black tattoos across her nose and cheeks. It had been too long since he'd kissed her.

His breath hitched, rasping a bit when he said, "I win."

Her lips curled upward, and her eyes softened. It was gentle, but with a bit of that determined gleam he'd seen throughout their match, sparkling a bit with a carefully controlled sense of mischief. Coyly, she said, tilting her head to the side as she looked up at him, "So I see."

He narrowed his eyes down at her. "You planned this."

Her small smile turned into a guilty grin for a moment, then a blush as she shied away. He felt warm; she was always welcoming enough, when he would kiss her, but she did not usually initiate contact. This was a change, and to mix it into a sparring match was unusually bold. He relaxed his grip on her wrists, hovering for a moment before easing down onto his forearms, closing most of what was left of the distance between them, feeling her flush beneath him. She placed her hands on either side of his face, sliding her fingers up into his hair and drawing them through, before lowering them again to trail over his cheeks. She closed her eyes for a moment, seeming content to simply breathe him in, curling closer until their foreheads were pressed against each other.

Then she tilted her head and kissed him, lightly, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down towards her. He complied with her pulling, closing the space between them, burying his face into her neck and feeling the juxtaposition of soft skin and knotted scar tissue there. He kissed her, moving from skin to scarring and back again, and felt her shudder at the process, tightening her grip around him.

"It's not pretty, underneath," she said, somewhat choked, and he paused, pulling back far enough to see her face. She could not quite focus on him, her eyes darting from his to somewhere distant, across the room. "I didn't have bacta. It's not…my skin isn't…." her brows drew together and she breathed deeply, trying to steady herself. "I have damage."

If it wasn't obvious to him before, what she was initiating, it was now. Kissing Barriss was usually accompanied only by light caresses. She was always so wary. Pulling away clothes would be akin to physically shedding defenses, leaving her even more exposed; she would only permit such a thing if she completely trusted him.

If she loved him.

The ache that welled up in his chest almost made him want to cry. Instead, he returned his face to her neck, kissing her again and feeling her take in a sharp breath as her fingers dug into his shoulders. He told her, quietly, if happily, "Just makes you more unique."

Barriss held herself taut for a moment, then, slowly, relaxed. Her hands slid down his back, holding him tightly while he pulled her more firmly against him in return.

He'd built for himself a life outside the army, a life of his own choosing, and now, finally, he had someone to share it with.

Cody closed his eyes, and kissed her, and was content.

* * *

Barriss totally got that from a movie, you know. ;) I actually had another scene in mind, but it went M rated in my head way too fast. And I just can't write lemons.

Hope you all enjoyed. ;)

~Queen


	17. Epilogue 3 The Observations of Olwen

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Epilogue 3. The Observations of Olwen

* * *

"Good."

She blocked the blue lightsaber with her own pair, crossed in an X with his caught in between. She braced herself against the ground, pushing back against the force of his blow. She'd blocked, but he had far more upper body strength, and without augmenting her own strength with the Force, there was little chance of overcoming him. She twisted to the side and whipped around, wishing she was taller. Master Ventress taught her how to fight dirty; it was necessary. If she just had a few more inches, she'd be in a good position to ram the hilt of her lightsaber into his temple and take him down.

Unfortunately, in spite of a recent growth spurt, she just wasn't tall enough to land such a blow on a grown man.

The fact he was a Jedi Master didn't really help either.

At the last second, Olwen managed to block another blow, and the man smiled, relaxing, and stepped back, signaling the end of the bout as he flicked off his lightsaber. "You seem to understand the intermediate forms of Soresu and Makashi quite well," he told her.

Olwen tried not to appear to be catching her breath too obviously. Sparring with him was different from sparring with Master Ventress, but he was just as fast, and incorporated several different forms into his strikes and stances, many of which she couldn't even identify. It made for a very different kind of match than she was accustomed to. Olwen extinguished her blades and bowed politely.

"Thank you, Master Kenobi."

He smiled down at her. "The suns are nearly down, but it'll be a few more hours before it's really cool. Rest for now, and drink some water."

Olwen nodded and turned to walk over towards the series of boulders where Master Ventress was sitting, a small cooler beside her containing drinks. As Olwen approached, Ventress stood. She did not smile, but she tilted her head, lifted a brow and said, simply, "Better."

Olwen didn't smile either, but she swelled with pride. They'd only been on Tatooine for a day, but already she could tell Master Kenobi praised more easily than Master Ventress. Kind words from her were hard won and usually single, brief words. _Better_. _Adequate_. _Acceptable_. Far more frequent were reprimanding words_.__Too __s__low!__ You__'__re__ telegraphing!__ Clumsy! F__ocus!_ She nodded once in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Master."

Ventress turned her attention away from her apprentice, and onto the man slowly following Olwen back towards their resting site, her face hardening. Olwen nearly winced. She knew that look. Her Master was irritated about something.

"You're getting slow, Kenobi," Ventress said flatly, reaching for the lightsabers at the small of her back.

"Am I?" he returned with amusement, seeming entirely unconcerned about Master Ventress' annoyance.

Ventress ignited her two red blades, and in the moment it took for her to cover the distance between them, Master Kenobi had his once again lit and ready to block the incoming attack.

Olwen clambered up onto one of the boulders, a cool drink in her hand as she watched the pair dance across the ground, their feet kicking up sand as they spun, red clashing against blue. She was not entirely sure what to make of this trip to Tatooine; she was pleased to meet another Jedi, of course, but her Master's attitude towards the visit was somewhat peculiar. Saying she was _eager_ was far too strong a word; _apprehensive_ far too negative. Perhaps _anticipatory_ was the best term. Master Ventress looked forward to little, but this visit seemed to be something she was strangely hopeful about.

Master Ventress could be very confusing. Olwen watched them move, and every minute or two, they would ratchet up their techniques and speed, trying to match, then outdo the other.

They were blindingly fast. But if she paid careful attention, she could see that Master Ventress was a hairsbreadth faster. Living here, alone, as some kind of odd hermit, Master Kenobi was falling out of practice. In a true battle, that tiny separation between their speeds could be the line between victory and death. Though Master Ventress did not often use her lightsabers in combat, out of need for secrecy, she still fought on a regular basis. Her skills were still honed from regular use.

She frowned as she heard the sound of Master Ventress' harsh battle cry, her lightsaber skimming the surface of the sand and sending up a billow of it. Her red blades seemed to disappear into one of the red suns setting behind them, while Kenobi's bright blue burned in bright contrast.

Olwen worried for him, for what might happen if his situation changed. If he ever had to fight again, go back into the galaxy, fight stormtroopers or Sith lords. Judging by the ferocity of her Master's strikes, she suspected Ventress was worried too.

She took a long drink before pulling her knees up to her chest and placing her chin on top of them.

Still, while they fought, moving back and forth across the sands, Olwen began to notice something that was hard to see amid the spins and blocks and strikes. It was not quite washed out by the light of the setting suns.

They were smiling.

* * *

It was late, and quiet, and she slept easily, until the voices woke her. Olwen opened her eyes blearily, still half asleep on her pallet in the living area. She lay on her side, tucked into a corner, the thin blanket over her more for comfort and familiarity than for any need of warmth; the temperature of the desert at night was far cooler than that of the day, but it was still warm enough to sleep blanketless. She lay still, eyes barely open, looking across the room through her lashes.

It was dark, but there was still a little low light coming from the kitchenette area. There was a scuffling noise, and she sighed softly, hearing the low voices of the two Masters conversing. Olwen remained silent, keeping her mind and body still so that they would not be alerted to her wakefulness. It was eavesdropping, she realized sleepily, but after a moment, she realized they were talking about her, and decided to remain awake to listen.

"I am not suited to this."

"If you believed that to be true, then why did you agree to take her on?"

There came the sound of liquid moving, of pouring, and the soft sound of a teapot being set onto a table. Master Ventress made an irritated noise, and then there was quiet for several long moments. Her voice was rougher than usual when she replied, "When I looked at her, I saw myself."

Then came a pause, and the soft sounds of sipping tea and cups being set and picked up again.

"How am I supposed to know what to do with her?"

"Look to your own experiences. They will guide you. Hope to keep her from making your mistakes." A pause again, then, in an amused tone, "You can't possibly claim to have never made any, Asajj."

Another irritated noise from Master Ventress, and Olwen smiled faintly, looking at her hands, which were laying out beside her. She wriggled her fingers once, flexing them and curling them in closer to herself. She felt the hardening calluses on her fingers and palms as she clasped them together, rough skin moving against rough skin.

"If she is driven by the same forces that drove you, you are best suited to teach her."

"I will not teach her to fear the Dark."

"Then keep her from falling into it."

"I will try."

"You will not try. You will."

"Meaningless Jedi platitudes."

"Is it meaningless when it is meant honestly?"

"Bah."

Silence. Olwen closed her eyes again, listening to them drink their tea quietly. She was nearly asleep again when she heard the words, gently spoken, "Thank you, Obi-Wan."

Olwen tugged her blanket closer to her, hugging it rather than burrowing beneath it. _Thank__ you,__Obi-Wan_. It was the kindest series of words she had yet to hear from her irascible Master.

She had no wish to turn into a Sith; that was the way of the Emperor, who ordered the purges, the cruel, malformed creature who only craved control. He was the origin of the order that resulted in her family's death, in the deaths of the families of her friends at home on Alderaan.

They all had their own stories to tell, their own nightmares that left them wakeful in the early hours of the morning. Some, like Neaera and Ctesius, were too little to remember what happened to them, left only with a whirl of vague memories that caused them to experience inconsolable night terrors, which they could not remember upon waking.

Olwen remembered her nightmares. She remembered the black, the huddling in a dark closet, sister holding sister holding sister, hearing the heavy tread of boots in a hallway after silenced screams. The ones in white found them, as she knew they would. Hide and seek always ended in discovery.

She would let the other children on Alderaan think her cold and odd. She would follow her own white track, and if it took her close to the Dark Side, she would navigate that path too.

She would learn from one who had been to those places before. There would be no hiding in the shadows for her enemies. She would learn to see in the Dark, and this time, she would strike back against the monsters even as they reached for her.

In her corner, she closed her eyes, curled her hands under her cheek, and fell asleep to the sound of adults drinking tea.


	18. Epilogue 4 Old Friend

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Epilogue 4. Old Friend

* * *

It was dark.

There was only a little light pressing in through her room's single, grungy, half shuttered window, pulsing first red, then orange, from the flashing sign advertising the cantina across the street. It was quiet in the room, save for the thumping of music from the nearby bars and the occasional shriek from someone outside. She could feel the music through her bare feet, the decibels loud enough to send a low, steady thrum through the floorboards.

The one man she could honestly call a friend was gone; she felt him pass.

Silent, she sat on the edge of her bed, long fingers curling around its' corners and into the shabby blanket that covered it. The expression on her face was hard; it was neither a glare, nor a grimace, nor a scowl, but still such an intensely severe expression that would, had they seen it, send even the bravest men scurrying to get out of her way.

She didn't sense the second presence in the room - not at first, so slowly and silently did it coalesce and take form. What alerted her to a change was the steady, cool brightness flowing across her pale feet and pooling on the floor as it seeped steadily into every corner and crevice of the little room.

Her brows twitched downward in thought, and she lifted her eyes. They met those of another.

Asajj Ventress said, coldly and flatly, "_How?_"

The lambent, cerulean light seemed to pulse a little around the near-translucent figure of Obi-Wan Kenobi. He smiled. "A great deal of studying, actually."

Ventress' face darkened into a more recognizable scowl. He looked much as he did when she last saw him; his traditional Jedi robes seemed to fit in well on Tatooine, all earthy hues and light fabric making the heat more bearable. His lightsaber hung off his belt, though the last streaks of ginger in his beard were finally gone, leaving him white haired and looking far older than she wanted to consider him. And now he was dead, though perhaps not quite gone. That Kenobi somehow found a way to ramble around the galaxy as a ghost didn't surprise her. He was Obi-Wan.

And if he were more corporeal she'd consider smacking him for letting himself get killed. Fool.

"I told you," she ground out with a glare, "holing up in a cave for years would dull your pathetic Force-senses."

He returned her words with a mild smile, eyes crinkling up around the corners with amusement. Her scowl deepened in return. Ventress released the blanket she was gripping and balled her fists, her hands twitching towards the lightsabers sheathed at the small of her back. "_Who?_"

Kenobi tilted his head to the side and regarded her for a moment in silence, and that silence confirmed her suspicion. Even out of practice, there were few capable of taking down a Master such as Kenobi.

She hissed the word. "_Vader_."

Kenobi sighed and closed his eyes. "Yes."

It began deep in her chest, the black hole of her _rage_. It began sucking at the tenuous control she exercised over her emotions, collapsing her will and her desire to control it and drawing in other feelings to feed itself: _companionship,__acceptance,__friendship,__affection_, and something she'd slowly come to recognize as some kind of _love_. Sitting still on the lumpy bed in the cheap hotel room, she felt the _rage_ she thought she'd long since conquered swelling up inside her like an oncoming hurricane with no center.

Obi-Wan was dead.

The curving hilts of her lightsabers were suddenly clenched in her hands and she bolted upright. Her words were a snarl. "I will tear him limb from limb myself!"

"Asajj," he said, gently.

"What?"

"Thank you."

Her eyes narrowed at him and she worked to steady her breathing, which was beginning to come in long, hard rasps. "For what?"

His smile did not diminish, and somehow grew soft. "For caring."

The simple words were enough; suddenly she found her calm, the center of her _anger_. The _fury_ in her heart did not lessen, and it tore at her still, but distantly. A different, sadder ache was cutting through it. Her hands tightened for a moment on her lightsabers, and she looked away from the luminous specter of Kenobi, squeezing her eyes shut and forcing back the most horrifying sensation of wet prickling. She breathed deeply and fought her way past it.

She knew he would know of her momentary weakness, but she kept up her usual pretense, muttering darkly, "It is more than time someone _ended_ that monstrosity of a man."

Kenobi was quiet for a heartbeat too long, so she spared him a glance. His expression had grown somber, and he was looking at her with saddened eyes. "That will not be necessary."

"It needs to be done." With a bit of effort, she forced her hands to relax around the hilts of her weapons, and re-hooked them into their holsters near the base of her spine. She didn't understand Tano's reluctance; Offee's personality was more cautious, so from the Mirialan she understood. Tano, though not nearly as reckless as she was as a padawan, was near monomaniacal in her dedication to supporting the Rebellion. Removing Vader from the equation would be a severe blow. The younglings were skilled, but Vader rose out of the ash of the Clone Wars; he was a threat for her, for Tano, for Offee. With Kenobi dead, the wisest course was likely to convince the two of them to join forces with her and attack him together. Even Vader would be unable to stop all three of them at once.

"Don't, Asajj."

She bit her tongue a moment before she snapped, _Do__you__think__I__will__fail?_ at him. It was hard to read him in the Force. The usual feelings she could pick up from him felt distant, like an echo. Even his image felt that way, like a projection he was creating while the rest of him was elsewhere. Like his form, nothing felt solid, all ghosts and shadows of what could be, but was not truly in existence. But she had learned to read him down their years of battling, and then again during the years they spent as friends. He was up to something, hiding something.

She grew suspicious. "What have you done?"

His lips quirked upward again, and the pale blue light around him seemed to flicker with that bit of amusement. He spoke with his usual calm assurance. "Listen to the Rebel network reports about Yavin. If you listen long enough, you should hear a rather familiar name. You'll know then."

Ventress rolled her eyes. Kenobi did not often allow himself to sound smug, but when he did it was particularly irritating. Whatever he'd done, he was unusually proud of it – or perhaps of the person who's name she was supposed to recognize. He continued, "I believe the destruction of the Death Star was the beginning of the end for the Empire."

She pursed her lips, thoughtfully. If that were true, he deserved the right to sound so satisfied. She'd cursed a great deal when the first, scattered reports of the monolithic space station began to percolate through the news two days ago, as part of the destruction from Alderaan. Everyone was still reeling; major events were happening too rapidly to make sense of, though over the last few hours, they'd begun to take shape. Her only warning that such events were afoot was the sudden slipping away of Kenobi's existence. He joined the rest of the Jedi in the looming _absence_ that was ever-present since the day the Republic fell.

It felt like a beginning. She glanced again at Obi-Wan. It felt like an ending too.

She closed her eyes and lowered her head, suddenly tired. A lifetime of fighting. Twenty years of it fighting for a cause. Something cool and formless alighted on her shoulder, and she looked up to see Kenobi's hand, flickering blue-white over the surface of where his skin should be. "You've done well, my dear."

Ventress snorted once, inelegantly, looking away for a moment before returning her attention to his faded face. He chuckled and said, "Goodbye, old friend." His hand withdrew, and he seemed to pull away from her, the luminescence around him fading first, and leaving a faint, lingering impression of his smile in the air.

Then, that too was gone.

"Goodbye, Obi-Wan," she said, and felt an echo of _contentment_, and then the room was empty save herself once more.

* * *

This was requested by my real-life friend, Ismene, who requested Ventress finding out about Obi-Wan's death. This one's for you!

~Queen


	19. Epilogue 5 One Thing to Learn

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Epilogue 5. One Thing to Learn

* * *

The boarding ramp lowered with a hiss, and a figure emerged from within.

Seeing Master Barriss again was a relief. The calm she'd tried to cultivate in the past few weeks crumbled, and she bowed her head, tears once again rushing to her eyes.

Master Barriss held out her arms, and Roo rushed forward into them, flinging her arms around her old Master, the way she had when she was a girl and a mission went badly, and she felt like she failed. Master Barriss wasn't Mama, could never be Mama, but she was there, and alive.

"Everyone is dead," she wept, burying her face into Barriss' shoulder and ignoring the fact that sometime in the last few years, she'd grown taller than the Mirialan woman who taught her for so long. "Everyone is dead, and Isa didn't see it. Why didn't Isa see it? Everyone is dead."

Master Barriss shuddered, and raised a hand to smooth down her earflaps, arching high in her grief and her desperation. "There's many things I could tell you now, Roo-Roo," Master Barriss said, her voice calm but not without its own hint of trembling. "But if there's one thing you ever learn from me, learn this. Not everyone is dead."

"But Alderaan –"

"Who was with you, at the Return?"

Roo paused, her head lowered. "Maera. Rithron. Nee. Master Ahsoka. Rex. Echo and Suisen. Fives and Behri and Pea –"

Master Barriss pushed her back and tilted herself so that she was in Roo's line of sight. She placed her hands on either side of Roo's face firmly. "Nura is gone, yes. But not everyone is dead. Remember that."

Roo-Roo looked at her Master, at the tattoos that bridged her nose, at the streaks of silver now taking up residence in her hair, at the lines that were now etched around her eyes. But also at the scars that traced across her cheek, branching out across her skin, a constant reminder of the purges, all that was lost, and all they'd sought to regain.

"Isa will remember, Master Barriss. Isa promise."

* * *

Yes, this one is very tiny and short, and I considered not posting it at all, but I wanted to at least touch on Roo's reaction to the aftermath of Alderaan, since she lost her mother and had no visions of the future warning her.

To make up for the super-shortness of this chapter...you all get an extra _Smile_ ficlet this week. :) Please feel free to go check that one out, too!

~Queen


	20. Epilogue 6 Those Who Mourn the Wicked

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Epilogue 6. Those Who Mourn the Wicked

* * *

The sound of feet pounding on the floor caught their attention.

Neaera burst out of the main corridor and onto the metal stairwell leading down into the _Drake_'s loading bay, the drumming of her feet turning from dull thuds into a metallic clatter. She grabbed at the railings on either side of the stairs, getting down three before she froze, each foot on two different steps. She was breathing hard, almost gasping, her body leaning forward and her lekku swinging over her shoulders to twitch mid-air as she trembled. Her hazel eyes were enormous in her face. She took a deep gulp of air and cried out, "He's _dead_!"

Ahsoka went rigid, and she did not need to look over at Rex to see that he, too, had gone very still.

For a moment, she did not breathe; then Neaera made a choking noise, a gasp, and then, with almost painful slowness, her eyes began to light, and her mouth began to move upward into an awestruck smile. Then, again, she cried, "He's dead! The Emperor is _dead_!"

For several seconds, Ahsoka went numb, and that numbness was rapidly followed by the onset of a sudden wave of dizziness. Rex's hand clamping onto her arm steadied her, and his intent gaze drew her back to reality. She shivered, turning slowly back to Neaera, who was now grinning almost madly, waiting.

She and Rex moved forward together. They began slowly, almost dazedly, but each step became faster, more frantic, more hurried. By the time they reached the stairs, they were clamoring forward, and Rex slipped aside to allow Ahsoka to go up the stairs first, running after Neaera, who had turned and was now rushing back towards the front of the ship with her lekku streaming behind her. They raced through the corridor, rushing through the living areas of the ship to reach the small bridge, the three of them piling in one after another.

Neaera had left the communications array on, and it was still blasting out decoded Rebel transmissions from the battle still underway. "I've narrowed it down to one channel," Neaera said as she slid into a seat and began fiddling with the controls to decrease static, Rex and Ahsoka looming behind her. "We're close enough to pick up quite a bit, but a lot of it's just ship to ship traffic. I just caught this coming in from the fleet back to us."

The three of them cast a brief glance out at the gleaming yellow world visible beyond their windows – Sullust. A remnant of the Rebel fleet still lingered here, primarily medical frigates prepared to take on returning wounded, or jump to Endor if necessary to provide more immediate assistance. The grey-white ships glided silently through space, pale and small before the black sky and the golden planet.

A man's voice was coming through the channel, speaking so fast he was almost babbling: "…_confirmed, __repeat, __confirmed. __Emperor__'__s__ presence __was _confirmed_ on __the __Death __Star __at__ time __of__ destruction __and __is __presumed __dead!__"_

Neaera spun around in the pilot's chair, beaming a tremulous, overjoyed smile. Ahsoka placed a hand against the chair's back and wavered, breathing heavily, as Rex let out a single, harsh laugh of relief. Ahsoka closed her eyes as one of Rex's hands came down on her shoulder, and she too found herself laughing, nervously and in disbelief.

There was a pause in the shouting on the channel, some muffled noises, and then a gasp. The man's voice returned. This time, he did not frantically babble out his report, but said, in a quiet, stunned voice, "_Vader__'__s __body __is __in __Rebel __custody_."

For a moment, silence reigned in the room; the only noise was the breathing of the man sending out reports from the fleet at Endor. That quiet, stunned breathing seemed to fill the air of the _Drake_'s bridge, before it suddenly turned into jubilant shout. "_Vader__'__s__ body __is __in __Rebel __custody!__ Repeat, __Darth __Vader __is __also __confirmed __as __dead! __The __Emperor__'__s __presence __was __confirmed __on __the __Death __Star __at __the __time __of __destruction__ and __is __presumed __dead, __and __Darth __Vader__'__s __body __is __now __in__ Rebel __custody!_"

Ahsoka felt Rex's arms circle around her, easing her back and into the co-pilot's seat. The excited trembling in her hands was growing worse, slowly spreading up her arms and into her shoulders and from there into her whole body, her heart seeming to speed up and her stomach to turn. She shook, looking down at her palms and her sienna, tapering fingers, all mapped over in swordswoman's calluses. The sight abruptly disappeared as a broader, heavier pair of hands grasped hers, covering them and holding them firmly enough to help control the trembling. Rex was kneeling on the floor beside her, clasping her hands tightly.

"We did it!" Neaera exclaimed, her voice rising high into breathy laughter, louder and more real than the voice shouting on the comm. "Both of them! _Both __of __them!_" She covered her hands with her mouth for a bare moment, before removing them to reveal a smile. "The heads of their command structure! The military! The Master and the apprentice! They got both of them!"

"Neaera, turn it off," Rex said quietly, causing Neaera to stare at him for a moment.

"What? Why? We did it! We finally –"

"Neaera, turn it _off_," Rex repeated, this time more harshly, earning a wide-eyed look of surprise. Ahsoka looked up from her hands long enough to meet the girl's startled eyes and nod once before turning to Rex and burying her face in his shoulder. Neaera didn't understand. Neaera didn't _know_. Ahsoka breathed in Rex's smell, focused for a moment on the warmth of his shoulder now pressing against her forehead. Barriss knew. Maera and Rithron knew, as did Rex and Cody, Echo and Fives. But none of the others. Right now, word would be spreading, and there would be an outpouring of joy from all those tread upon by the Empire. They were free.

The officer shouting about the great victory was suddenly cut off with a pop as Neaera reached over the command console and flipped a switch. Silence descended over the room, though it was accompanied by _confusion_ from Neaera and silent _pain_ from Ahsoka and Rex.

"Master Ahsoka?" Neaera asked uncertainly, and Ahsoka closed her eyes.

"Later, Nee," Ahsoka said quietly.

Neaera had never been one to be quiet for long, and her _confusion_ was too strong; it was both a strength and a weakness, to always be curious, to always be wondering, to always want to _know_. It made her relentless, but had the side effect of giving her a certain lack of subtlety. "I don't understand – shouldn't we be happy? The Emperor and Vader are dead. There's going to be celebrations all over the fleet and the aligned worlds. We've been fighting for years - this is what we've been working for!"

"Celebrate our freedom, Nee," Rex told her, his voice low and rough. "Celebrate the accomplishment. Nothing good comes from celebrating death." He paused, then added, quietly, "This was never about revenge. Against Palpatine or Vader."

Neaera leaned back in the pilot's seat, her small, cream colored hands resting lightly on the dark plastisteel of the chair's arms. Her lekku, still draped over her shoulders, were curling up at the tips, displaying her discomfort and confusion. Still, she nodded once, somberly.

A green light on the command console began to flash, then emit a slow, steady beep. Neaera looked at Rex and Ahsoka, and Rex nodded once, giving her permission to answer the hail from the _Gadfly_. She reached over and switched on the channel. A small, handspan-high image of Cody appeared in the center of the console's small holoprojector, standing straight and tall, his hands tucked neatly behind his back and his chin high. He looked out over the three of them, his gaze lingering the longest on Ahsoka, before he returned his attention to Rex.

"You've heard."

Rex's reply was grim, quiet. "Yes."

Cody closed his eyes and hung his head for a moment, before lifting it again. His eyes shifted to Ahsoka and then back to Rex. "You alright?"

"Well enough," Rex returned. "You and Barriss?"

Cody smiled, wanly. "In one piece. We're en route to Endor. High casualties and injuries. When things settle down, we should rendezvous."

"Agreed. Keep in contact. We're still off Sullust."

Cody straightened and gave a brisk nod. "It's over," he said quietly, this time glancing in Ahsoka's direction. She sighed and closed her eyes, bowing her head and keeping it bent until the little blue light of Cody's projection flickered out, and the room was once again dominated by the dull yellow lights of the command console and the reflected golden light of the planet they orbited.

Ahsoka slipped a hand out of Rex's and placed it over her eyes. It would be good to see Barriss and Cody again; it'd been a few months since their last face-to-face meeting. It'd been nearly a year since the last time everyone was together. Even after Alderaan, not quite all of the survivors had made it to the Returning Ceremony on the _Drake_. Most of the younglings, now grown, were scattered across the galaxy, working in little units towards aiding the Rebellion.

"We all need to meet," she said at length, removing her hand from her eyes though she kept them lowered. "Corellia is probably the best location. Nee, start tracking everyone down and tell them to head there. We'll meet in two weeks – that should be enough time to tie up anything they're currently working on. Contact Artos and tell him we're coming for a visit."

The old Corellian and his family had become a fixture in their lives down the years, regularly supplying their weapons needs. Corellia was not Alderaan, but Artos and his little clan had become an extended branch of the family, and had offered them a place to work from after the destruction of their homeworld.

Ahsoka squeezed Rex's hand one last time, before pulling it out from his and pushing herself out of the co-pilot's chair. Her legs supported her, though she could still feel her hands shaking. She clenched them into fists. She looked down at Neaera, still sitting in her chair and looking up at her with wide eyes.

Neaera took a deep breath and nodded. "I will, Master."

Ahsoka managed to dredge up a smile for her, before angling her way past Rex and out of the bridge, him trailing slowly after. She moved steadily towards the galley, pausing once in the center of the kitchenette and closing her eyes while taking a long, slow deep breath. She unclenched her hands, slowly and deliberately, aware of Rex's eyes on her. She looked over her shoulder at him and forced another smile, though this one came out more weakly than the one she gave to Neaera.

She couldn't fool Rex. She knew she hadn't really reassured Neaera, either, but she hoped the girl would at least not worry too much. She needed to calm down. Vader was dead; she knew this would happen someday, would have to happen someday if they were to succeed in overthrowing the Empire.

It did not make it easier.

She turned away from Rex, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment as the first tears began to swell up. She moved quickly towards the cabinets, and began fumbling for her tin of tea; it would give her hands something to do, and the comforting process of preparing and then drinking tea would be at least slightly soothing. Her hands clasped the box, wrapping around it tightly, to keep her hands from trembling. She clutched it so hard her knuckles began to whiten, and the tension from her grip made the box wobble in her hands. She stifled a small cry as she tried to relax her grip, and the tin slipped out of her fingers.

Rex's arms circled her again, his hands once again covering hers, then pulling their arms together so that they crossed her chest, her arms under his as he hugged her closer, pulling her against him as he pressed his cheek against the side of a montral. Ahsoka felt her face begin to contort, lips pulling down while her brows drew together, tears suddenly catching on her lashes and then beginning the slow process of rolling down her cheeks. Pressed now against her chest, her hands folded, she could feel the old ache opening up again, that place where the silvery cord of her bond with her old Master once seemed to begin and end.

That bond long since severed, she did not feel him die. She did not know what happened, or how; the victory suggested that whatever happened, the boy, Luke, must have confronted Vader, and possibly Palpatine as well. Had he killed them both? Had he stalled them until the battle was brought to the Death Star? She knew too little, and the official reports would not tell her what she wanted to know.

Was it Vader who died, or Anakin?

She cried out again, this time in pain, and Rex's hold strengthened as her knees began to give out. She felt his lips press against her montral, and she leaned forward against the counter to help keep herself upright. Rex's warm solidity at her back was a relief, and he held her firmly as she wept, shuddering as she tried to keep from sobbing.

"It's over," Rex murmured, softly. "It's over."

She shook her head minutely. "No. Coruscant. And the Moffs. Still so many star destroyers, and regional governors. Rebuilding. Coruscant is still occupied. Still so much to do."

"Ahsoka, it's over," Rex repeated, quiet and firm. She felt him kiss her again, lightly, and he murmured, "It's just a matter of time, now. Rebuilding has always been for the younglings. For Leia and Luke, and for the younglings. It's over. It's done."

She leaned back, into him, and turned enough so that she could see his face. Rex was not young; not anymore. Even with his age slowed to that of a normal human man's, twenty years and more took their toll on him, as she knew they did on her. He had not shaved his head in nearly a week, and a grizzled fuzz was bristling from his skin, swirling silver-grey through the black. The lines on his face were not heavy, but when he smiled or frowned, those lines deepened so much more than they did a few short years ago. Ahsoka had no hair to be so marked, but the deep charcoal chevrons on her montrals and lekku were lightening, softening at the edges into ashy color. The fine lines around her eyes grew deeper with each passing year as well. They were not old, not yet, but they were no longer young, and had not been for some time.

Once, long ago, she remembered speaking so lightly to Rex, standing on Alderaan on a clear day while he recovered from the short illness that accompanied the expansion of his lifetime. She joked that they could someday retire, in a galaxy free of dictators, in a galaxy at peace. She laughed that they'd grow old together, and it seemed that they had.

It had not been an easy life, but it had not been a bad one, either.

"Do you think he…? Do you think Luke…do you think he was able to…?" Her hands tightened, her fingers curling around his.

Rex did not answer for a long moment. When he did, his voice caught as well. "I hope so. He was a good man, General Skywalker."

Ahsoka smiled, though it was sad. Who would be mourning Darth Vader? No one mourned the wicked. Was there anything of that good man left to grieve for?

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe steadily, the damp tracks of tears on her cheeks still warm.

As others across the galaxy began to celebrate, they stood together, quietly, and wept.

* * *

The next epilogue is the last. It's been fun everybody!

Thanks and much love go out to: **Queen Ceilidh, Clayto, DoubleEO, Sarge1995, almostinsane, LongLiveTheClones, outlaw hunter, Emshadow, ThoseWereTheDays, littlelionluvr, reulte, Admiral Daala, TheLightisMine**, and anyone else who has followed this story for so long, especially those of you who have stuck with me from the beginning!

Special thanks go out to **KatiaSwift**, for her endless enthusiasm, and to wonderful duo of **sachariah** and **laloga** for their consistently thoughtful feedback and kind words! You are all so very much appreciated!

~Queen


	21. Epilogue 7 They Are a Changing

_This is Not Our Fate_

* * *

Epilogue 7. They Are a Changing

* * *

The noise was so soft, she almost didn't hear it.

It was a deliberate noise, a soft scuffle instead of a clearing of the throat, and just enough to gently draw her attention from the pile of flimsiwork drifting over her desk in white mounds. Her brows drew together, puckering, and her lips twitched downward. If it was important enough to interrupt her, whoever it was should have said so directly, rather than hovering in irritating silence.

Leia lifted her eyes.

It wasn't one of her assistants, nor was it anyone who looked remotely like a dignitary. If anything, the woman looked like a freighter pilot, and though Leia knew not to underestimate the abilities of smugglers, she wasn't sure why one would randomly appear in her office, entirely unannounced and unescorted. The woman was a petite Togruta, with a pair of impressive striped montrals adorning the top of her head, her face framed by an equally impressive looking headdress of triangular, serrated teeth. She had a blaster pistol at her hip, and wore a long brown duster coat, which hung loosely around her as though it were a size too big. There was a patch on one shoulder that looked new, unfaded like the rest of her clothing, as though it were a recent addition; a red, winged star insignia that once represented the old Republic. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she was admiring the landscape of Alderaan hanging from the wall, casually.

She said, almost absently, "You shouldn't be too upset with your attendants. They were actually pretty hard to convince." She paused for a minute, drawing her fingers horizontally through the air, then tilted her head to the side so that Leia could see more than her profile. Her eyes, lightly lined, were an almost startling shade of sky blue. "Hi," she said, and smiled.

Leia's eyes narrowed, and she stood from her seat, though remained behind her desk. "Who are you and what are you doing in here?"

The woman's smile broadened, and she chuckled once before returning her attention to the landscape. Her face sobered, and the smile faded. Her hands unfolded from across her chest to hang at her sides. "I'm an old friend, and I'm here to keep an old promise you probably have forgotten about." Her face grew somewhat more pained as she stared up at the painting. It was a scene of the mountains beyond Aldera, the sun turning the land a mix of lavender and orange and scarlet, the city at the base of the mountains' base cast in shadow, but lit up with little lights from the buildings set there. Leia chose it because it reminded her of the view from the palace, now gone. "You probably don't remember me," the Togruta continued quietly. "But I once promised I'd tell you all about the exciting world of shipping delicate imports and exports."

A smile worked its' way onto her face again, but it faltered until she turned away from the painting. It grew steady, and became gentle rather than sad. "You've grown up," she chuckled, then rolled her eyes. "Wow, I'm old."

Leia relaxed, almost imperceptibly. The woman was right, she didn't remember her, but something tickled in the back of her memory, over the combination of a Togruta woman, and a promise about being told about something once forbidden to her. That, and if the woman meant her physical harm, she would have already attacked. Leia sharpened her focus on the woman's face; a pair of white marks decorated her cheeks, shaped like ginkgo leaves. A set of stripes ran down her forehead, elegant and slightly abstract. She didn't recognize the pattern. The hazy memory bubbling up to the surface of her mind was all solid stripes and bold ovals, lacking in the delicacy this woman possessed.

The Togruta's smile broadened again. "It was Ashla Ebino. But it's really Ahsoka Tano."

Leia really had grown. Her brown eyes were clever as ever, sharp and round and intent. Ahsoka watched her try to make sense of her presence with amusement and pride. Coruscant was slowly beginning to look like Coruscant again, instead of the much loathed _Imperial__Center_. Glorifying statues of the hooded Emperor were being pulled down, partitions between areas of the city were being lifted, and offices and buildings were being reopened for different purposes and staffed with different people. The change was palpable, moreso when she used the Force to sense it. There was an overwhelming sense of _relief_, of being able to _breathe_ again. People were still twitchy, frightened, looking over their shoulders as they walked, still afraid soldiers in white armor would come and snatch them, but the _fear_ was fading into something both shaky and strong. It was a brave new galaxy that was forming, and though there was _anticipation_, there was _apprehension_, too.

She was like her mother. Padme's apartments and offices were always a wealth of color, of richness, a place you could feel a calming type of opulence, the safety and comfort that could only be offered by someone both powerful and kind. Leia's offices were different than Padme's, still showing evidence of the previous owner's occupation. The walls were slate grey, and here and there were pieces of hyper-modern, mass produced furniture. Wide, rectangular windows stood straight and tall and bare behind the desk, and the yellow sunlight that fell through them fell through starkly. But there were also signs of Leia, in an overstuffed couch of indigo, in a few figurines sculpted in what Ahsoka recognized as an Alderaanian style, and the portrait of a city destroyed in such a devastating manner.

And she was dressed as finely, though perhaps not as extravagantly, as Padme ever was, all greens and yellows and fine material. Her hair was bound up in two rolls on either side of her head, a style she recalled Padme wearing on occasion, a style traditional to Naboo.

She was her mother's daughter, and as Ahsoka envisioned over twenty years ago on Polis Massa, she was strong.

Leia tasted the offered name, warily, slowly. "Ahsoka Tano?" She wasn't Luke, with his special abilities, mysticism, and the Force, but she considered herself a decent judge of character. The woman was harmless, at least to her. But there was something in how she held herself, even relaxed, that suggested she was anything but harmless. At her name, the woman turned to face Leia fully, and she was able to make out the slight bulge of a concealed weapon under her shoulder.

Ahsoka regarded her, followed her gaze and slight frown, and glanced down at her own shoulder. "Ah," she said, and lifted a hand to the lapel of her coat, slowly and with enough deliberation that Leia knew she was being shown what was there instead of having it turned on her. Ahsoka pulled the coat open, and withdrew a silver cylinder.

Leia recognized what it was only a second before it was ignited. Her gasp came out at the same time as the grass green blade. It hummed pleasantly in the silence of the room, casting light up into Ahsoka's face and turning her eyes turquoise. Held horizontally, reverse-gripped, it seemed like a bar of pure light, separating two women and two different eras.

Leia stepped back and fell heavily into her chair, her hands gripping the edge of the desk tightly. "You should be talking to Luke, not me!"

The lightsaber was extinguished, but its' presence could still be felt in the room; there was a brightness now that a moment ago was absent, and the faint smell of ozone. Ahsoka smiled at her, gently. "I didn't promise Luke."

She was a Jedi. There was another. Obi-Wan Kenobi was dead, as was Luke's second teacher, Yoda. Her father had told her that there were only a few that escaped the purge, of General Kenobi's location and that the former Grand Master of the Jedi Order had gone into hiding in places unknown. But he had also said, somewhat cryptically at the time, "_And __there __is__ another_." But he'd refused to name the person or give a location. Leia understood his caution. He was protecting a last resort, a final chance if everything else failed. She knew, in time, he'd have told her, but Alderaan was gone before he could, and him with it.

She bowed her head, trying to breathe. The Force ran strong in her family. Her brother had it. She had it. Leia looked up again. Obi-Wan and Yoda trained Luke. If Luke had failed, was this the woman who would have taught her? A desperate final chance if everything else failed: herself, and one last teacher?

It seemed suddenly cold, and she shivered once. "You said we met before?"

"A couple times, actually, though I've seen you at least once a year, until…" her voice trailed off and her face filled with pain. She looked towards the landscape, heavily. "Until Alderaan."

Only survivors spoke that way, about their homeworld now gone. Others sympathized, understood, offered condolences. They were sad, they were angry. But Alderaani that still lived experienced these things with a heaviness only another Alderaani could share. Ahsoka spoke with the same weight in her words, with the same loss. "You are Alderaani."

"For about twenty years, yes."

A pause. Leia considered what she now knew of the woman and her dress, combined it with the knowledge of where she lived. She made a leap of logic. "You were Alderaanian resistance."

The smile turned towards her was sad and confirming, but not without a hint of humor. "Delicate exports and imports. _Very_ delicate." Se hefted her lightsaber and arched a brow, meaningfully.

Leia found herself smiling in response. "You should still be talking to Luke, not me. To know there's someone else alive. You can be a tremendous help to us."

For a moment, Ahsoka wavered. It was tempting. So very tempting. They could open the Temple again. Her padawans, both grown and still growing, would have a home again. The Jedi Temple would be filled with Jedi again, even if it was barely a dozen. They could see their history, live in the place their predecessors did, have a past and traditions they could be proud of. And not only the padawans. She could go _home_. Barriss could go home. They could stand in the council chamber, and look out over Coruscant, and feel the vibrancy of a world so teeming with life and growing vitality again. She could teach Leia, like she wanted to so long ago. She could talk to Luke, ask about Master Kenobi and Master Yoda, know how it was they died. They could rebuild some semblance of the life she lost, the day of Order 66.

But it was not a life that should be rebuilt.

Leia knew before Ahsoka spoke the answer was no. Her chair creaked faintly as she leaned back in it, watching as the hopeful, wistful look in Ahsoka's eyes faded and became something resigned. "I'm of the old Order. You and Luke are meant to rebuild things. You the Republic, him the Jedi. It's tempting," she admitted quietly, painfully, "but I'm not meant to be part of it. The Jedi Order needs to be built new, and that can't happen while trying to build it on the foundation of something old."

She sighed, held up her lightsaber so that she could look at it. Its' familiar shape and weight were comforting in the palm of her hand. It was her Master's piece, elegant and well made, and she wielded it much of her adult life. "There's actually a few of us," she admitted, taking Leia slightly by surprise. "But not many. Almost all are younglings found after the Empire formed. We lost some during Alderaan." Once again, she cast her eyes towards the painting, and her face hardened, painfully. "Another like Palpatine can't be allowed to rise. Events are still in motion. We're watching."

"You would be welcome."

Ahsoka smiled at her, kindly, sadly. She looked out the window, afternoon light illuminating her face. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

Ahsoka paused, her lips pressing firmly into a line. Her hand tightened around the grip of her lightsaber, and Leia worried at what the question would be.

"Do you know, when he died, how Vader was?"

For a moment, Leia stared at her blankly, understanding neither the question nor the reason for it. Ahsoka, though, seemed mostly sad, her gaze distant, brows drawn together in worry. Leia slid her hands along the arms of her chair until they reached the ends, her nails clicking lightly off the polished metal. "How he _was_?"

A nod. "Maybe it's a stupid question." She closed her eyes. "I was just hoping maybe I was right."

Not long after Endor, Luke said something that echoed the phrase: "_I__ suspected __there__ was__ still__ good __in__ him.__ He__ told __me__ to __tell__ my__ sister __I__ was__ right_."

If the Emperor was the diabolical force of evil behind the Empire, Vader was its' all consuming specter. The mere thought of the man formed fresh terror in her belly, even in memory. She remembered being questioned on board the Death Star, of the drugs and the prodding at her mind, the invasiveness of a man in black clogging up her brain with his deep voice and mechanical breathing, his demands for information, for loyalty. She remembered being backed up against him by a menacing Tarkin, moments before he ordered the destruction of Alderaan, _home_, and she remembered that Vader did nothing to stop it, only let Tarkin do as he pleased. Billions dead. He was the stuff of nightmares, and he haunted hers. A monster that commanded other monsters.

Her _father_.

Ahsoka was looking at her, contemplatively. "He wasn't always as you knew him," she offered quietly.

Her _brother_. Luke was alive because Vader protected him. She couldn't forgive him for everything else. One act of righteousness at the bitter end did not undo all the crimes he committed during his life; but in this one thing – just this one thing – she could find a little softness. Luke was still alive because of him. "Luke believed there was still good in him. He told me Vader said he was right. Luke is still alive because of it."

Ahsoka's eyes suddenly had tears in them, and she turned away so that Leia could not see. She said, after a moment, "That is good."

Leia's voice was harsh. "He was my father."

Ahsoka's voice was quiet. "I know. He was my friend."

The room lay silent, save for their breathing.

Leia lifted her head from where it was bowed. There was so much this woman could tell her, about so many things. And not all of them were about Vader. She didn't want to know about Vader. Not now. Someday, she would have to learn, but not now. Not yet. But there was another she did wish to know about. "Did you know my mother?"

Still distant, staring out the window at the skyline, Ahsoka started, blinked, then grinned, giving her an odd look, almost as though she were examining her hair. "Oh yes. She was much like you. And I think you're closer to her than you know."

There was still sadness in Ahsoka's tone, but her lightheartedness in regards to her mother seemed genuine. Leia didn't know what to think of her mother. What kind of woman fell in love with Darth Vader? Or had she fallen in love at all? In her darker considerations, she feared her mother was forced. Ahsoka's brightness allayed some of that fear. "Who was she?"

Ahsoka laughed, lightly. "A long time ago, I gave you a homework assignment. If you can remember what it was, you'll have your answer." She looked around the office, pointedly, with a grin. "If she could see you, she'd be proud. And pleased."

Homework? Her office? Leia stared at the woman, uncomprehending. Did her mother work in politics? Ahsoka seemed amused by her confusion, chuckling. "She was a good person, Leia. And Anakin Skywalker was not always a bad man. Don't let your imagination run to dark places. You won't find your answers there."

She held her lightsaber firmly in her hand, admired it for a moment, then smiled, lowering it to waist-height, and hooking it onto her belt. Head bent, Ahsoka swiveled slightly to the side, just fast enough to watch the weapon sway against her hip. She rested a hand against the pommel, reassured. The weight tugged slightly at her belt. It took her years to grow accustomed to wearing the lightsaber in its holster beneath her arm, hidden away where no one could see it. She'd wished so many times for the day she could wear it openly again.

"It's been just over twenty years since I've been able to wear my lightsaber where it belongs. It's good, to feel it back where it's supposed to be." The view outside the window wasn't the same as the one from the council chambers, nor did it face the Temple's ruin, but the cityscape was familiar and similar nonetheless. The sunlight was just as warm, and the city just as busy. Skylanes were flowing with afternoon traffic, and the sun was glinting off the rooftops in a steady stream, seeming to flow towards her as it slowly sank towards sunset.

"You'll visit again?" Leia asked. Still so many questions, all left unanswered.

Ahsoka placed her hands on her hips, brushing the edges of her coat back far enough to expose the trademark lightsaber. She seemed thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "I'll be watching."

Leia rose from her seat and stepped forward. She did not move to stand beside this strange Jedi woman, but she did move into the square of light that cut across the floor, as provided by the window. "And you'll still be welcome."

She received a warm smile in return.

Ahsoka did not leave, not immediately. For a little while, they stood quietly, not quite together, but neither were they far apart, both just inside the patch of sunlight offered by the window.

Outside the glass, the galaxy moved forward into the future.

* * *

_The__ End_.

* * *

Again, many thanks to you all, for all your kind words and support throughout the writing of this trilogy. It has been a pleasure and an honor writing for you all.

Please look forward to a new story (though not in this timeline) early next year.

~Queen


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